


this romance alights my aching heart and broken soul

by jetblacklilac



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/M, Heavy Angst, Jon Snow is a sweetheart, Nonlinear Narrative, Rivals to Lovers, Sansa has a son, Sansa is a mess, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, past emotional abuse, slowburn, they're both CEOs which is very sexy of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28170762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: The Tragic Heiress is a title Sansa Stark has earned after the death of her beloved husband, Harrold Hardyng. Her family died shortly after, save for her and her mother; no wonder she bawled at the graves of her loved ones.Now, she holds another title; the Stark Heir, the only person suitable to take over the family company despite the tragedy that wrecked her life.Jon Snow is a man of deep and old money. A shadow of her past, a man who knows her and he stands in her way to prove her worth of being the new Head of her family's company. The past spills into the present and the former classmates find themselves in a situation they tried so hard to prevent.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark (past), Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a new take, a bit dark. i recently realized how i only write abt unhealthy relationships. maybe bc it's all i've ever been in. (tell me what you think about this and i might just continue this)

“I miss you.” Sansa paused, her gloved hands clutched the elegant bouquet in a trembling grasp.

Inside the mausoleum, there is only cold air and colder grief underneath her skin. She steps forward and places the flower arrangement in front of the gravestone.

She traces his name, carved in gold. The reality of life is death, she concluded when she sank on her knees at the funeral. His entire life; hardships, joys, and his smiles, they’re gone and he’ll forever remain six feet under.

“I love you. You’re the only person I can love and yet you’re here, rotting!” Sansa hissed. Her eyebrows pinched behind the dark sunglasses. “Why did you have to die like this?”

Something shifted in the corner of her eye, turning around, she sees their son; small and wears a concerned face directed at her. His curly raven hair can’t be tamed by any hair products so it stays unruly. His deep, almost indigo blue eyes, glowed in the dark, and he held his bouquet of tulips closer to his chest.

“Mama?”

Sansa shakily stands up and the little boy walks up to her, holding out his hand. “I’m sorry, dear. Go on, give your father your flowers.” She urged with a pat on his back.

Luke pressed his free hand down his neatly pressed white shirt. He bent down, places his tulips next to hers, then stood beside the grieving woman. “Hello, Papa.” He greets and not expecting a reply, he continues. “We both miss you. I don’t understand why you left…. But I hope you’re happy in Heaven.”

She can’t cry in front of her son; not again anyway. She reaches down to hold his hand; hers must be cold because of the gloves but he curls his small fingers tighter and smiles at her.

“Mama misses you so much she cries every night. I promise to take care of her.” He vows at the grave of his father, her husband. “We both want her to be happy right? She’s pretty when she smiles.”

She sniffles and he frowns at her.

“You must love Papa so much to cry like this.” Luke points out with a small smile. He even has Harry’s dimples; damn genes!

Sansa pressed her handkerchief on her nose and nodded; she can’t say anything else because of the childish wonder brightening his face. He thinks love is beautiful and golden, but it dies like how Harry did.

She scoots her son nearer to her side and he nuzzles at her tweed coat. “When did you get so smart?” She wonders and ruffles his hair, laughing when he tries to swat her hands away.

“I’m a genius like you and Papa!” Luke boasts, puffing his chest out. “Everyone says you’re a genius.”

Aside from his dark curls, the joyous look, and brilliant blue eyes; he’s so similar to Harry.

Sometimes, much to her disgust and shame, it hurt to look at her son; to be reminded of her lost beloved.

 _You ruined me for anyone else and you left me._ She carefully listens as their son talks about his day in class. _I love you with everything that I am but that wasn’t enough to make you stay._

————————

Before meeting up with Mother, Sansa drops her son off at home, to have his weekend sessions. They differ from the school lessons because the tutors teach him advanced subjects and pursue whatever musical interests he has. Right now, it is learning the piano.

She waved at her son and went in the car once more, grim and dreading the lunch.

“Ma’am, we’re here.” The chauffeur announced as he held the door open. He helped her out of the car and she stood on her heels, standing in front of the hotel.

Hotel staff hastily greeted and bowed at her.

 _The Tragic Heiress,_ they later would gossip to one another; _she still wears the death of her first love like a brooch; everyone can see it for miles away._

_Until now, she mourns? Gosh, poor woman!_

_No one knows,_ one counters, _some say her heart died along with her beloved._

Sansa can see the conversations as the slight alarm and awe rippled among their faces; commoners, people who will live ordinarily the way she’ll never know in this lifetime.

She ambles down the golden halls, her caramel trench coat fluttering, the fitting suit is elegant, and her red-soled heels click against the hotel tiles.

The dining room is filled with the one percent; fine dining and small and mundane laughter. Her usual scene, the place she ought to belong to.

Sansa easily spots Mother, away from the simple joys in life. She sits down across the retiring CEO. “Afternoon.” She greets and drapes her coat over the velvet chair.

The calm blues in Mother’s eyes never wavered. There are few grey strands among the long fiery orange locks. The emerald dress she wears is foreign; the frown is stern and she holds her wine glass like it’s an anchor for her anger.

“Tonight, the party shall be in your name. You will inherit the company because you have proven your worth for it.” She announces in a matter of fact; no emotions at her eldest daughter wading through the sweat and tears of their family’s life mission. “Everyone who’s anyone will attend. I expect you to be at your best behavior.”

From an outsider’s view, it’s utterly ridiculous a woman in her early thirties is getting scolded by their parents. But they do not know so Sansa nods, then lifts her hand, rhinestone rings sparkle on her small fingers as she signaled for a waiter.

The staff hastily noted down their orders and shuffled to the kitchen, clutching the notepad tightly.

“Please don’t think of the anniversary. It was not my intention.” Mother ventures in hesitance, her foot hovers over the rippling lake.

Sansa finishes her wine in one gulp and refills the glass, staring at the sloshing red like his blood-splattered along the pavement as if he was road kill.

Looking up, there is a concern about the older woman’s face. “I know you went to his grave and paid your respects. You’ve done your duty as a wife-“

“As a widow, you mean. He’s gone.” Sansa bitterly grumbled but managed to appreciatively thank the waiters for their lunch. “Everyone sees me as the Tragic Heiress, Mother. I can see it on their faces.”

Disgust sours Mother’s face, at the mention of the media’s nickname to her. All because she bawled at her husband’s funeral, the world pitied and admired her.

“There is nothing sad about inheriting one of the world’s advanced companies. You’re modern royalty.” Mother consoles Sansa. “And it’s been two years.”

“Or perhaps you’re grateful for the media coverage, made me more…. human and relatable.” Sansa jests, earning a disapproving frown from her lunch companion. “I’m sure the party will both celebrate my name and pity me as well. I dread their horrid light small talks about Harry.”

Mother pops a fresh grape in her mouth before answering, “This is precisely what I’m talking about.” She snapped. “You’re rude and bitter attitudes drove your suitors away. Do not make me remove the alcohol in the menu.”

She confiscates Sansa’s glass of half-finished wine and replaces it with a tall glass of water. “I need you perfect and sober.” She demands and smoothly slices through her steamed fish.

Sansa swirls her spoon around the thick soup she ordered. “You trapped me in dinners a year after my husband’s death. Was I supposed to be grateful? All those men only want my wealth, to control me. I won’t give it to another man, not again.”

It was pathetic how her lower lip trembled. She cranes her neck down and reigned in the urge to steal the wine glass from Mother; that would get her into much more trouble.

“You were controlled because you gave it to him.” Mother gently says then smiles. “Maybe after this party, the media will rename you as something…. happier.”

 _Perhaps_ , she agrees _but am I?_

——————————

Sansa has been attending galas since she was a teenager.

In her youth, there was a wonder in the glamour of the ballroom. Women adorned in shiny jewelry and silk dresses, men in sharp suits, the decadent atmosphere in hotels and rooftop parties.

The event was exciting but now it’s better because Sansa can refill her glass every time a mundane person approaches and initiates a boring conversation. Slight buzzed in her head, she can ignore the subtle piteous looks they throw in her direction, at being a leader at such a young age while a burden weighs in her chest.

She can hardly breathe.

Sansa is reluctantly grateful Mother is at her side, monitoring her alcoholic intake. She frowns when Mother dismisses the waiter she calls for. She’s thankful for her son, Luke, stayed home for the night. The young boy won’t understand the gathering and he’s such a shy thing, will probably hide behind her legs the entire time.

It’s better for Luke to not see his mother like this; well-dressed but miserable.

“As you were saying, senator?” The retired woman encourages with that dazzling false smile.

Sansa can imitate that action. It is just that the short bald man in front of them mentioned something Harry used to like, the sparkle in his navy blue eyes-

She inhales a sharp breath and forced herself to listen to the boasting conversation. The man appears to be proud of his works reaching the international level; a feat her company has already achieved. It’s boring how desperate they are sometimes.

Laughing was easy, at his not funny jokes, and he excuses himself. She nearly sighed in relief. Enduring the nameless guest’s conversation is such a chore she knew Mother would be as impatient as she is in that moment.

“You’ve had enough to drink.” Mother warned eyes turned chilling in a way icebergs can only aspire to. “I guess you’re not leaving my side the entire night.”

Sansa held back a sigh. It wasn’t obvious to other people her mother is acting as her hawkish guardian so it wasn’t as embarrassing as it felt. She wasn’t at fault here, the man was talking about things that held no interest to her!

“Oh my, what a surprise! It’s Mr. Jon Snow.” Mother gushed; sly smile and Sansa suspects she weaved a subtle trap. Thin like a spider web and Sansa wonders who the unfortunate and oblivious insects are flying to their doom.

At the marveled tone, Sansa follows the gaze and spots her old classmate much to her surprise.

She knows that Mr. Snow is the extreme definition of ‘introvert’ so seeing him in a lively social gala is blue moon rare.

With a height that makes him stand out in a crowd, in more ways than one, almost artistic beauty; people fawn and admire his coal dark eyes, hair as dark as the nights, locks are messy yet also styled in a way.

He’s arrogant and wears his wealth as a king would with his crown and jewelry.

Worse, Mother motioned the young businessman man to go to them. He slightly bows his head and his assistant trails behind him; as stoic as he is.

“Mrs. Stark, Miss Sansa,” Jon announced. His ash-grey eyes shone emotionlessly and Sansa wonders why the man is present in her welcoming party.

As usual, he’s here to steal the limelight.

“I’m relieved you availed yourself for the night, Mr. Snow!” Mother gushed. The pearl necklace sparkles like her practiced smile. She brushes her hand down her daughter’s arm. “Though my daughter is younger than you, I’m sure she’ll manage the responsibilities in handling our company like how you did with yours.”

If Sansa was a more insecure woman, she’d take offense but this is Mother, her steadfast supporter, and mentor. But she isn’t, has endured the constant comparisons of her and other people and so nothing can deter her self-perception.

The older Stark is acting like any parent, showing off their child in an embarrassing manner.

Mr. Snow nodded. “Yes, I recall Sansa. We used to compete for the top spot and often traded ranks.” There was a smugness to his words that grated on her nerves. Shouldn’t he congratulate her and not bring up their hellish college days? He truly is socially inept. “She’s diligent and a hard worker. I’m sure she’ll do just fine.”

Sansa scoffed underneath her breath. If only she stayed behind and spent time with Luke, then maybe she could’ve avoided any participation in the sudden reunion and awkward conversation with him.

“Mr. Snow here was married to his studies and now he’s married to his work. So, it’s safe to say you’re the more dedicated person out of the two of us.” She recalls. Her shiny coated lips curl into a mocking smile; his eyes studied it for a breath then looked at Mother. “Or should I dare to say you’re a bigamist?”

The skinny man with a shaggy haircut; eyed her behind those square glasses. He frowns and held his mauve clipboard with fidgety hands, eying his boss.

Mr. Snow didn’t move a muscle as they both stared at each other. “Perhaps,” He agrees. “But you were the one who really got married; now turned into a widow. My condolences, Miss Sansa.”

Sansa knows, in the back of her mind, people would say those empty words to her. Countless faceless nobodies repeated the same words at Harry’s funeral; it could be genuine but no matter the number of people that have said that they cannot bring him back to life.

But for him to say it with a face that women from all ages fawn over, in that dashing suit, and cool tone; it irritated her for some reason.

I don’t want to hear it anymore. The pity and sadness; I feel it so much already. Can they never mention his death to me ever again? My heart keeps on aching.

“Darling,” Mother coos, her gloved hand curled on Sansa’s elbow. “We must greet the other-“

“-I’m surprised you’re here, Mr. Snow. It is common knowledge the parties you attend are the ones hosted by your organization. Others are not worthy of your presence.” Sansa found herself saying, anything but the biting sadness crashing against her ribcage. “So yes, surprised and honored at your presence at my party.”

His assistant shuffled on his feet, huge oak brown eyes studied his boss in silent amusement. Mother eyed her like a train wreck.

A shadow fell upon his full pink lips; like a smirk. “Can’t I congratulate my once rival on a job well done? Despite family tragedies, you withstood them all and now, you control one of the world’s largest companies.” He countered in subtle cruelty, to remind her of the echoing loneliness she has to go through.

“Oh, please Mr. Snow. You were never a challenge to me; then or now.” Sansa returns.

If this was a debate she would’ve cleanly earned a point; it’s a reminder of the past, of how every interaction with him evolves into something… inexplicably annoying.

She’s annoyed by his nonchalant confidence and at how he could rule the world if he wants to, but he’s a lazy predator.

Mother now tugged at Sansa’s arm. “Excuse us, Mr. Snow, we need to greet the other guests.” She kindly says, effectively ending their childish exchange and drags the new CEO away from her former classmate. “Honestly, you could’ve behaved more properly. He was being sincere in his condolences.”

Her maddening grief isn’t enough to bring Harry back to life. What more for their half-assed sympathy? How could those words ever bring her comfort when her soul is so cold?

Sansa swiped a glass when a waiter passed by them. She finishes half of the content and enjoys the sherry. “I don’t know him well enough to know he means his words, Mother.” She confessed. “Or, it values too little to him and that’s why he said it.”

There is fierce disapproval on Mother’s face. “Well, I believe Mr. Snow came to this party because of you.” She insisted with a pat on Sansa’s knuckles.

She couldn’t have the same conviction. This is Mr. Jon Snow they’re talking about; it isn’t possible for him to care about anything other than his cat and his work. She isn’t important enough for him; the way Mother implies.

It just isn’t possible.

She heard boisterous laughter somewhere in the crowd and immediately knew who the center of it was. “Oh, he’s here!” She breathes in relief.

Together, they walked to the left side of the crowd. There, in the middle of smiling people, influences branching out to international levels, was her best friend; Theon Greyjoy.

He’s not much taller than her, not bothering to tame his cinnamon locks. The suit he wore is the very same one she recommended he use; an indigo suit with silver stripes, he wears it well enough.

“Ah, and here is the brilliant person in question!” Theon announces and raises his glass to them. Sky like eyes sparkling, freckles stretch on his cheeks as he gives her a dazzling smile.

Their audience bows and greets her. She smiles and stands next to Theon. “I’m sorry for his…. Excessive loudness tonight.” The people laugh in amusement. She rubs his back and faces her.

“Are you here to interview Miss. Sansa?” One of the guests asks.

Theon rubbed his cheek and pretended to ponder on an answer. “Maybe, but first, I should ask, how’s everyone’s drink tonight?” He asks and there were murmurs of praises. “Good, good! I hope we can all enjoy this party and be happy for my best friend!”

Sansa laughs and slaps his arm at his slight jokes. “I appreciate everyone’s presence and enjoyment of tonight’s event! Please, eat and drink!” She says and she subtly drags Theon away from the crowd.

It only then does she realize Mother has moved away, talking to a pair of an elderly couple by the buffet.

“I hope you’re not here to take note of any scandal and be the reporter to splash it on the news?” Sansa wonders and eyes the person she’s been friends with for almost her entire life.

Theon rolls his eyes. “Oh please, Sansy, I don’t intend on ruining your night. And besides, your mother would make my death look like an accident!”

They quietly laugh at how true it is.

“So hey, how’s Luke?”

Sansa brightened up. No one has asked her about her son; it’s always about work, the unnecessary drama going on among prominent people, and how she’ll be an amazing leader. She rambles on and on about Luke’s achievements; he’s one of the smartest in his class, he’s learning the piano steadily, and can play a few pieces.

“Oh, and when I’ll have the time, he wants my help in building a telescope.” Sansa laughs at that, wanting it more than anything.

Theon smiles. He spends time with them, eating dinners and playing soccer. Luke loves his uncle very much and Theon, a bachelor, spoils Sansa’s son rotten. “We can always go to a planetarium and have a private tour. Maybe for his birthday?”

“Oh, that would be lovely! And don’t forget, he has his piano recital soon and he wants all of us to be there.” Sansa reminds him, swats his shoulder.

People look their way as though they are newlyweds at their reception; glowing, blissful, and enjoy each other’s company.

Theon opens his mouth, probably to say something really dumb and it’d be enough to distract her from the party.

“Holy hell, is that Jon Snow?” He exclaims in wonder.

And the night continues on its ruinous toll.

“How did your mother convince _the_ Jon Snow-“

“Oh, so he’s going to be the star of tomorrow’s news?” Sansa snapped, eyes forward but not at the subject of their conversation.

“Don’t be jealous now. I’ll make sure to write only a paragraph about him, Sans. I have to talk to him though.” Theon says and kisses her cheek before making his way towards her former classmate.

The men shook hands; Theon having all smiles and politeness of an eager journalist and Mr. Snow ever so stoic and formal. Her best friend turns in her direction and motion for her to come closer.

Like hell, Sansa seethes and curses Theon’s pea brain. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near that man. She waves but then Theon clearly mouths for her to go to them.

Mr. Snow is staring at her, with no emotion at all. His assistant at his side and now there are three people regarding her in expectation; whether she’ll flee or not.

Sansa smiles and lightly pinches Theon’s side. “You called?” She asked the journalist with a hint of fury.

“Well, I can’t help but remember something I came across. You guys used to be classmates, right? College, I think, in a prestigious university no less!” Theon started then his lips tilted in a small smirk. “Do you feel the same competitiveness as you did when you guys were in college? The both of you are heirs, destined to take control of huge corporations, and well, right now you’re on the same footing.”

The pair were stunned at the brazen question; nothing could be expected less from the notorious reporter.

Mr. Snow glanced at her, his eyes widened a fraction but she caught the action nonetheless. It’s almost satisfying to see the surprised expression splash against his vacant porcelain mask.

“I think,” Sansa answers in a loud and crisp-angry tone. “having a healthy competition with your peers is another way of helping the growth of both parties involved.”

“Yes, I quite concur with Miss Sansa’s statement.” Mr. Snow said and she wishes she didn’t answer the question. “Wanting to outdo each other gives us the opportunity to improve ourselves. I know I chose my rival well and the competition will be fierce.”

Sansa’s face might have been flushed by the time she had her third drink, right now she lost count. But with his words, her face suffused a rosier blush, the excuse of alcohol wilts weaker by the minute.  
Theon’s girn is sheer mischievous. Sansa can basically see how he’s listing off eye-catching headlines for tonight.

“Please stop referring to me as your rival. We are not. Normal people don’t have rivals or declare such things like that.” Sansa hissed, finally letting some of the steam to escape her.

Mr. Snow lazily arches a brow at her. “Why on earth do you assume you’re normal, Miss Sansa? You’re not. Hence, that rule doesn’t apply to people like us.” He flippantly returned.

Maybe there is a compliment embedded somewhere in his words. Or this is his way of talking, casually honest, and has no intention of complimenting her the way other people are eager to do.

“I’m not sure there will be any rivalry between us,” Sansa stated in confidence, a smirk in place, and Mother would most likely scold her for being rude to one of their guests; not that she cared enough to be considerate to him.

“You haven’t even begun and you’re being so awfully brave?”

“I should be since the esteemed Jon Snow crowns me as his rival.”

Tsukko didn’t notice they were face to face, squared shoulders, and his assistant nearly stepped forward to stop this childish exchange. Theon held the short woman back, the only one who’s interested in seeing them act like this; riled up by nearly nothing.

“So you finally admit it then?” Mr. Snow tilts his head, a shadow fell underneath his sharp jawline and Sansa knows people would eye him in silent want. “You shall try to catch up with me? I, of course, have a head start.”

Sansa recalls she hated him, stark and so clear in her mind. The reasons don’t matter because something about him scrapes anger in her insides. “And if I do? Are you feeling threatened? Afraid I’ll dethrone you?”

Mr. Snow smiled. His assistant softly gasped.

“Then it’ll just be like when we were classmates on a much bigger scale.” He declared, like a vow to an opponent before the match begins.

Or, the dance will commence; there are no winners or losers, only catastrophe, and promise for ruin.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As soon as the car stops at the front of the mansion, Sansa climbs out, and walks up the broad marble steps, and enters the patio.

She hangs her coat on the elm wooden rack and removes her shoes and replaces it with fuzzy slippers. Her appearance is quite comical; an exhausted woman in a pale cherry evening gown, styled hair but wore slippers as she goes to the second floor to her son’s room.

She’s been informed her son is sleeping. A genuine smile softens her face, at seeing the stars and planets projected from the lamp they bought. Right now, the six-year-old is obsessed with everything space related. His sheets are different star constellations; there are figurines of planets and the telescope they haven’t finished.

Settling next to the boy’s sleeping form, she gently combed her fingers through his curls; the texture is the same as her husband’s but not the blonde shade. She freezes when the boy turns to her side, beautiful navy blue and sleepy eyes gaze up at her.

“Mama, hi.” Luke sleepily greets her and yawns.

It’s way past midnight. She presses a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry I woke you up, my son.” She murmurs.

He smiles, chubby cheeks, and shining love for her. “I hope you had fun in your dance, mama.” He says. “You’re really pretty when you smile.”

Sansa laughs. “I smile when I’m with you, Luke.”

He huffs and brings the blanket higher on his face. “Goodnight…..” He mumbles and his eyelids fluttered. “I love you, Mama.” He smelled fresh so she knew he took a bath then wore those space pajamas Theon bought for his birthday.

She places her arm on his shoulder and loosely hugs him. “I love you too, so, so much."


	2. the chasm between us is filled of ghosts and hesitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my draft is like 90% depressing scenes and the rest are flashbacks when they were in colllege

“Mr. Snow is expanding his well-beloved hotels. Oh, that bastard…” Sansa hissed, as her hands nearly crumpled the detailed report her assistant prepared this morning.

Robert eyed his accomplishment in pity. He worked on it for days but now it’s in his boss’s hands, and she’s almost destroying it.

“Ma’am, we still have hundreds of clients to comb through. Contracts to be renewed or we could also expand one of your franchises. We’re doing exceedingly well.” He suggested, fidgeting on his cheap tie.

Sansa considers it carefully, pacing behind her glass table. The miniature Willas garden Theon gifts her sits untouched could help in alleviating her irritation but she’d rather let it fester.

“Give me the status of every company under us within the week. If you could place a remark of what should be done, the better. Thank you, Robert.” Sansa instructs and the assistant bows, exiting the office in frantic steps.

The entire day consists of never-ending meetings, talking with older and more experience Chairmen. As she talks, professional and practiced, she can see the shine in their eyes; of regarding her as this inexperienced young woman. The crown is too big on her head, ill-fitting.

All she needs to do is to angle her chin properly and immerse in the confidence that allowed her to endure the years of training.

Lunchtime is the only hour of the day she has to herself. Her meal is brought to her office and she enjoys it with a glass of wine.

Her phone rings and she gently places her utensils down. Glancing at the name of her best name, she lightly smiles. “Hello-“

“Heya, Sansy! How are ya doin’?” Theon sings as he slams open the door to her office.

She squeaks and nearly drops her phone. “Theon, _please_ refrain from startling me like that again!” She snaps, light-heartedly and he completely ignores her warning. “What are you even doing here?”

Theon sheds his coat, hangs it on the rack, and grins at her. He places takeout on the table and ruffles his already disastrous hair. “I missed you.” He says and winks.

She points her knife at him. “And why is there so much grease in your lunch, you buffoon? You should have some of my salad.” She scolds the reporter.

He offers her a burger which she gingerly accepts. Biting into his, he then sips on the cup of soda. “So, I finished my draft for your article. You’re so lucky I made you the star. I mean, I minimalized the interview with Mr. Jon Snow.”

Sansa gapes. “You interviewed him in my party? Really, what did he say?” She demands. There is a strong sense of curiosity, unable to deny it because she’d do _anything_ to know what her former classmate said.

Theon leans back on his seat, ketchup smudged on his mouth. “Should I put you out of your misery or let you suffer?” He ponders as he strokes his cheek like he has a beard.

She kicks him on the shin and he yelps, nearly falling off his chair. Rubbing the injury, he exhales a sigh of defeat. “I wanted to run it by you for the go signal. Even though my boss thinks it’s fine, you are the subject of my article.”

She accepts the envelope and eyes him uneasily. “You’re awfully considerate. Do you do this to your other clients?” She wonders.

Theon swipes the napkin on his mouth and grins. “Nah, Sansa, only ever for you.” He teases and snatches a grape from her salad. “There, now we shared your salad.”

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness. “I shall read it and you’ll get a fierce scolding from me.” She warns and closes the plastic lid to her lunch. It was delicious.

And she also eats some of his fries; he doesn’t say anything because a part of him is relieved she’s eating something else other than the healthy things.

“I promise, I captured the atmosphere perfectly.” He stands up and throws their paper bags in the trash bin. “I have to go. Apparently, there’s a hot spot where celebrities sneak out for dates, bye! Text me when you get home!”

She scowls as he waves. “Why does he keep on saying that?” She mumbles to herself then motions for Robert to enter the office, holding up stacks of documents to be reviewed and signed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Sansa had to meet the deadline for this essay._

_But, time slipped right past her and now, it’s almost midnight. The library is closed but thankfully, she gathered sufficient reports from the books. All she needs to do is to organize them in the proper order and write the analysis._

_Her phone vibrated and it was a text from Harry._

_Him: don’t study too hard! Good night, sweetheart, I love you._

_She smiles a little at his endearing text. Telling him she’s still out would only worry him more and she doesn’t want to disturb him._

_Her: good night and I love you too!_

_She spots the university café and ambles to that direction, her laptop bag swinging. Reaching for the door’s handle there was another hand that shot to it and the brief touch startled her out of the thoughts about her boyfriend._

_“Miss Sansa.”_

_She grits her teeth. Ah, it was her classmate; none other than the Jon Snow. He looks formal as always; plain white shirt, but he wore a powder blue blazer and slacks that match. Simple black loafers and he’s more put-together than she is._

_Granted, she’s wearing a pastel yellow turtleneck tucked into her reliable pair of jeans, sneakers, and her hair is messily done into a high ponytail, hairpins clipped to her head._

_“Mr. Snow.” She greets back and they both enter the café. “It’s past your bedtime.” She tosses at him and walks to the counter._

_He’s known for being stoic, but his eyebrows lower to his dark eyes to portray his annoyance. “I’m here because I need coffee. This essay won’t finish itself.” He grumbles and stands behind her._

_There wasn’t any line so their orders were swiftly taken. They stood at the other end of the bar, waiting for their orders, rugged, but still determined students._

_“So, I take it you’re not yet done with yours?” Jon says eying the nearly empty place. He looks down at her with a smirk. “My, my, aren’t you cramming?”_

_Sansa rolls her eyes and tapped her foot. “Like you’re not doing the same thing.” She points to the briefcase he’s carrying. “I can see your Montblanc suitcase. You always have your laptop there. All students cram.”_

_There’s a tint of pink in his cheeks but she’s too tired to tease him about it. “Yes we do but not every crammer, or shall we say, student, gets grades as I do.” He boasts, thanking the barista and accepting his hot drink._

_Her order was called too and she held on to the cup-like it was her salvation. “You’re not the only one with the best grades. I topped the World Literature Exam last semester. You got second.” She reminded him; the pride of such a task flushed through her veins and she smirked at him._

_“Do you want to make a bet with me?” Jon proposed._

_She scoffs. “Hardly, ladies do not gamble like drunken idiots.” She hissed, wanting so badly to ignore him and finish their impending assignment._

_“Whoever gets the higher grade wins and the loser will have to do whatever the winner tells them to do.” Jon proposed, like the proper businessman they’re all trying to be._

_“That is so childish. In fact, I’m reeling in shock that you actually said that.” Sansa admits, laughing a little._

_He rolls his right shoulder. “A bet is an application of probability. It’s your favourite subject.” He offhandedly mentioned. She doesn’t have time to ask him how he knows this as he continues. “And besides, why are you acting hesitant? Afraid you’ll lose, Sansa?”_

_He bends down to her height by a noticeable degree. It infuriated her that this boy underestimates her by her height and her capabilities. The way he taunts her is dangerous; confidence is one of his many expertise._

_This game between them shouldn’t be as exciting as the thrumming in her veins, but she’d be lying if she said it isn’t. She wants to be the best, the better person than Jon Han. There’s only one winner and it has to be her._

_“I’m only concerned.” She admits, confusing the boy. “What if I win and you cry at my feet? Your reputation will be a sandcastle facing a tsunami.”_

_The glare he sends her was amusing. She rather enjoys annoying the hell out of someone the public deems to be apathetic; he’s not though, not even in the slightest. People just don’t know how to approach this aloof man._

_“If I win, will you cry? People might call me names if I make a lady such as yourself sob like that.” Jon returns. He’s never the one to lose. His stance is that of an alert warrior._

_Their coffees will get cold if they continue their staring contest. Neither are aware of it, they continue to stare at each other, waiting for the next move in this dance. There are no known moves yet because it’s only them that knows this; the fleeting moves, eyes that momentarily connect, and the silence that can either be so heavy or cosy._

_Sansa stretches her hand to him. “May the best student succeed!”_

_He smiles; a genuine one people believe him to be incapable of doing._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Willas has entered the chatroom_

_Gendry: heyyy~~~_

_Sam: what happened today, mr. big shot_

_Willas: just got back from a dinner._

_Willas: with a really beautiful woman_

_Willas: too bad we talked about work_

_Gendry: omg…._

_Gendry: you had a DATE_

_Sam: i think pigs can fly now_

Jon rolled his eyes at the immature things in the chatroom. There were a lot of works to do, as usual. Assistant Satin is relentless on stacking his desk with documents he needed to review, to ensure Targaryen Inc. comfortably enjoys its high rank in the world.

He only meant to glance at the time on his phone, but then the conversation started. He refocuses on the task at hand until the musician announced the most random thing he’s ever read.

_Willas: oh ha ha but no rlly_

_Willas: her name’s Sansa Stark. You know, the tragic heiress_

He gripped his phone in a way that if he had superpowers, the screen would crack. He wasn’t really interested in the reason, merely astonished Sansa willingly reached out to that idiot, had _dinner,_ and spent a few hours in his presence alone!

_Jon: do not call her that_

The photos of her in the funeral flashed in his mind; Sansa sobbing at the grave of her husband, the way red blotches her cheeks and eyes. He absolutely _despised_ that title the media gave her. She shouldn’t have to be reminded of that devastating part of her life each time they gossip about her.

And they shouldn’t talk about her anyway!

His fingers hovered over the phone’s touch screen, too many questions swam in his mind. He wonders what pretty dress she wore this evening, how jewels adorn her soft skin, and how Sansa must’ve been charming for Willas to be in a good mood after meeting her.

Willas called Sansa a ‘really beautiful woman’ which she is of course. He has known it for longer than the famous musician. It irked him out for someone _else_ to say it.

_Willas: it’s true though? She’s the widow of that businessman who died in a car accident right?_

_Sam: damn that’s so sad! How was she?_

Oh, Jon didn’t want to hear _anything_ of their night together but at the same time, there’s a blaze of curiosity in him, turning reason and logic to ash.

_Willas: well, she’s very well-mannered, quiet, and_

Pain laces through his tightly clenched jaw. Forget about work, this is consuming his mind right now.

_Willas: I wouldn’t mind having more dinners with her!_

_Willas: and apparently we will because we need to work some kinks out for our schedule_

_Gendry: how… kinky lol_

_Sam: OMG WILLAS HAS A CRUSH!!!_

Jon’s fingers fly on the virtual keyboard before sense grabs him by the neck. There is no hesitation, to pause and think of consequences when the thought of Willas enjoying Sansa’s company twists something in him.

Maybe it’s the anger making his heart pound or his blood went cold; he isn’t sure, just wants it to stop. 

_Jon: you’ll probably be meeting with her staff or project manager_

_Jon: Sansa is a very busy woman_

He wanted to add more; for him to not be intense and annoying around his old classmate, to tell them that he and Sansa have a more founded connection.

(to warn Willas to not flirt with Sansa. falling in love with her is something he can forgive but Willas shouldn’t, _can’t,_ flirt when Jon doesn’t have the courage to do so in the years of knowing her.) 

_Gendry: hohoho do u know this woman, Jon?_

_Gendry: are ya jealous?_

_Sam: lololol_

_Willas: are you jealous I had dinner with Sansa?_

_Jon: It’s Miss Sansa to you._

He scrolled through his contacts but then he paused, horrified that impulsive blinded him, urged him to text her. And to text her _what_ exactly? Nothing good can come out of this, of letting her know he’s unintentionally informed of her life.

She certainly doesn’t care about him as far as he knows.

He can already picture her in her bedroom, brushing her soft hair, humming, and in peace. Unaware of the storm she incites in him because she ate with Willas. And that he stubbornly doesn’t want to admit these conflicting emotions twisting in his gut.

_Satin:….._

_Satin: but what is the project about?_

_Satin: it must be huge for the CEO herself to talk to you about it_

Thank goodness for Assistant Satin, he's able to alleviate the tension Jon created in a fit of momentary rage. Willas began to explain how Sansa is managing a musical recital for a charity benefit and he’s one of the main performers.

He should relax, put his phone down, and focus on-

_Sam: Jon, do u kno Miss Sansa from somewhere?_

_Gendry: ye you’re oddly protective of her lol_

_Jon: she’s a colleague_

_Jon: I must go, I have work to do._

Exiting the chatroom, he doesn’t care what they think or say about his reactions. Let them wonder about their true connections, it doesn’t change anything.

Satin opens the door, pops his head in. “Mr. Snow, the reports you requested are finished. Would you like a review on them?” He asks and when he gives his assent, he enters the dimly lit office to carefully present to him the files.

He lingers, he notes.

“What?” Jon grunts.

Satin shifted on his shoes. “Well, it was admirable how you defended Miss Sansa, sir.” He says, eying him as he stopped at a particular page. “She would’ve felt…. Nice about it; heroism or something as barbaric as that.”

Jon glanced at his secretary to find him staring in genuine appreciation. “She’s not the tragic heiress anymore, is she? It’s very much out-dated.” He huffs in mild ire.

He nods. “And sir, I am certain Willas is only appreciating Miss Sansa’s beauty. His career would be in jeopardy if he’d pursue a relationship with her.” 

There was the clarity of reality he didn’t have. His mind didn’t react sensibly, but rather in a way that reflected a dangerous feeling; a sense of panic and worry.

“So, no need to be jealous, sir,” Satin assures him and nods at his gawking boss; cheeks a gentle shade of carnation.

Jon sat straighter. “I-I was _not_ jealous, Assistant Satin!” He protested, his tone could be a whine, but he has his pride to hold onto, and the denial that swiftly follows. “Sansa is a very busy woman. And Willas is _Willas,_ they won’t work.” He hisses, like a vicious snake; the king of the domain he rules, confident and a deadly predator.

The lights catch on Satin’s glasses. He nods once more. “I understand completely, sir.”

Jon narrows his eyes at the boy’s audacity. No one understands and he doesn’t have the patience to explain it to them. 

“She was my classmate. Given our connection, I have more of the privilege of knowing her.” He snaps back and slams down the file he was holding. “And I want to know that project Willas is on, have it on my desk by tomorrow.”

He ignores the way Satin smirks. He bows and closes the door.

Jon stares at Sansa’s name on his contacts, wondering what the hell he should do. He can’t call her about this. It’s utterly stupid.

His phone vibrated and to his utter surprise, it was Sansa. Within a second, he opens the message.

_Sansa: good evening, Mr. Snow, I apologize for texting you this late but I would like to ask a favor. If it’s alright of course, and please forgive my audacity._

Jon laughs dryly. “So she doesn’t know I’d do anything she’d ask of me, huh?”

_Him: What is your request, Miss Sansa?_

She replies in two minutes. He knows because he counted down the seconds.

_Sansa: That we share a meal at this fabulous restaurant I heard but researching about it, you’ve bought the damn place._

It would make sense if he tells Sansa Assistant Satin to help her.

_Jon: I shall help you over lunch_

_Sansa: I can’t. My schedule is quite cruel to me._

He slouches on his seat, could be pouting like a spoiled child not getting what he wants.

_Sansa: Dinner would be more fitting. And it’s more socially acceptable to drink wine in night than in daylight._

He smirks. The gods love him, he knows it.

_Jon: Perfect._

He made sure the venue and table aren’t conveying _any_ romantic feelings. It’s a small Italian restaurant, the spot he got is the best one available. He even decided the menu, picking the items she’d like, pairing the finely aged wine for the smoked salmon. She loves that.

He waits in their booth, fiddling with the French cufflinks, staring at the mauve table cloth.

“Miss Sansa.” The waiter announced.

Looking up, Jon marvels at her appearance. She’s so _enchanting;_ beautiful doesn’t truly capture her.

Her dress is ruby red-black, sleeveless but high on her neck. She wore Gucci gloves that reach her elbows, and her thick locks flow down her back. She sits across him, brilliant blue eyes shine in the candlelit room they’re in.

“I heard you have to reserve three months before you glance inside of this restaurant.” Sansa greets him, as the waiter fills their wine. “Either you’re psychic or you have a way with words, Mr. Snow.”

Jon stares as she sips her wine, cheeks hallowing for a moment, and her tongue darts out to savor the flavor a little longer. The table napkin on his lap is near to shreds at the mercy of his grip.

He clears his throat. “Which do you think is more likely?”

Her coated ruby lips quirk upwards. “The latter because if you were a psychic, you wouldn’t ask me that.”

They laugh at her small joke.

“Tell me more about your project.” Jon requested.

Fondness washes over her face. “Ah, it’s all because of my son actually!” She giggles. “Luke’s piano lessons, at the end of a term, require a recital, but my precious son is so shy! He gets awful stage fright. And I figured, why not have famous pianists be on stage as well!” She gushed, excitement loud in her tone, and she took a sip of her wine.

“You’re a wonderful parent.” Jon praises with genuine admiration. He fills her glass of their beloved sherry and he adores the shy pink in her cheeks. “Most people would do this for the boost of their status in society or the media. You, you just want to encourage your son.”

Sansa beams, warm and beautiful as a dancing flame on a candle. “You’re very kind to me, Mr. Snow. Oh, and my assistant recommended Mr. Willas. He’s an upcoming star, a really talented man on the piano. I was shown a video of him singing and I’m impressed!”

The steamed fish tasted wrong on his tongue, not the fish itself, but at hearing the wonder in Sansa’s voice when she said Willas’s name.

“Oh?” Jon hums, thinking of a way out of this uncomfortable conversation.

Oblivious, Sansa continues to chatter with the thought of her son in mind. “Yes, we had dinner the night before. He’s…. well, he’s overwhelming personality makes sense as he is a celebrity.” She says then her eyes widen. “I-I’m sorry, I understand Mr. Willas is part of your organization. I meant no offense.”

Jon dryly laughs. He agrees and Sansa laughs. “So you…. Do not like him?” He ventures into this landmine with a single thought in his head; _please do not tell me what I don’t want to hear._

Sansa dabs the corner of her mouth with a table napkin. “I don’t think my opinion of the man matters. So long as he can perform well and the program goes along smoothly, I won’t protest.”

“Yes, but do you like him?” Jon presses, unknowingly on a wound and Sansa hides her wince well enough.

“He reminds me of Harry.” Sansa blurted, slammed down her utensils, and there’s a fragile look in her eyes; icebergs splinters under the sun. “The way he talks and moves, it’s like him.”

Jon is so ashamed he forced that confession out of her. “I, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…” He pauses, horrified at how narrow-minded he was, not considering _her_ feelings in the matter. Empathy isn’t his strong point and he wished he did, at that moment.

She gave him a tired smile and his heart sank in the pit of his stomach. “No, no, I don’t know why I said that….” The laugh is pained and bitter. “It’s unfair to think that on the poor man.”

He reached out, in a way he never really did to other people and held her hand. It was icy and he was warm, fingers thread together like a well-knitted sweater. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to…. But yes, your project will be enjoyable and good.”

Sansa’s finger wrapped around his like the painful pull won’t make her cry. She chewed on her lower lip and bobbed her head. “Can, can you attend the recital? If you aren’t busy, of course.”

The warmth he offered is something she forgot she once had; that Friday night when they ate cup noodles outside of a store. With the memory and the presence of her friend in front of her, Sansa grins and wishes she didn’t have to let his hand go for propriety’s sake.

“I will support you in whatever way I can. Here,” He slides a folder and she skims along the famous names printed on the pages.

“Thank you! Luke will be so excited.”

“I take it he’ll be the last to perform?” Jon asks.

Sansa finishes her wine and he’s quick to refill it. “I’m not sure, perhaps the middle act would be more suitable?” She gestures for the waiter to bring a bottle more of the wine.

“He’ll do splendid in any time slot.” Jon declared in confidence. “How’s the food?”

“A definite upgrade from cup noodles,” Sansa said, her neck snapped up at the sound of his laughter; an action she didn’t know he could do. It’s an honor to make him react like this. “Ah,” She shyly exhales. “You still remember?”

Jon was baffled because _of course,_ he’d remember the night that belonged to them. “You wore a red dress and a padded jacket.” He recalled, taking in the deep suffusion of blush on Sansa’s face as though the wine is coloring her skin.

_You were so lovely and sad. Just like tonight, the past echoes and ripples into the present. And I’m still helpless like I was before._

“I don’t know why I forced you to eat the cup noodles though. And I never got to apologize for that.” Sansa’s genuine in her apology; thinking back to how awkward Jon was around her, rude and formal. “From now on, let’s enjoy the finer things in our lives.”

Their glasses clink and Jon quietly observes how Sansa finishes hers. “You’ve drunk a lot of wine tonight. You must really like this year.”

Sansa’s eyes are hazy and her lipstick coated mouth curves. It isn’t really a smile but a practiced motion. “I have a wine cooler next to my bed and in my office. When I can’t sleep, I drink.” She laughs and reaches for the bottle, but Jon’s hand stopped her goal.

“I think that’s enough. Miss Sansa.” Jon gently admonishes.

She frowns. “Taking pills or drinking the hours away doesn’t make any difference.” She whispers small and low. “And did you know, I crafted the proposal that made my company go global while bottles surrounded me? I’m _used_ to it.”

Her hand circles tighter on the bottleneck and Jon is sure she’ll throw a fit if he keeps on refusing her. “Thank you.” She huffs.

 _You’ve changed in so many ways._ Jon thinks, silently watches Sansa drink and drink. _Grief does that to people._

When they finished their meals, Jon helps her to her car, the chauffeur stares at him like he could see Jon’s soul.

Sansa looks up at him. “Mr. Snow, thank you for the evening and support. Luke would be delighted.” Her gloved hands held onto her large coat, fidgeting with the buttons. “Have a safe trip home, sir.”

“Wait,” Jon calls, his hand gently wraps on her wrist, space her gloves don’t reach. “If, if you have any problems, you can call me.” He stutters, hoping the biting wind made his cheeks turn pink.

She smiles. “Even if I don’t tell you anything, you find ways to comfort me, Mr. Snow. Then I shall return the favor. If you have troubles, ease the burden to me as well.”

Jon taps her mocha beret. “Rivals help each other grow. And I want you by my side.” _You’re the only person I can think of that can._

“I’ll save you a seat, the best one in the Music Hall.”

“Next to you?” Jon suggests.

Sansa laughs. “If that is what you want, Mr. Snow, then yes, you’ll be by my side.” 


	3. so we look good on paper, then we fall apart later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lyrics are from paper by LANY) 
> 
> i do encourage y’all to comment your thoughts and opinions!!!!

_In the end, she won, by three points. It wasn’t enough but her pride skyrockets as she smirks, the crown fits perfectly on her head, and she struts to him like it’s her coronation._

_She shows Jon her hard work._

_He scans the pages and eyes the red mark. Oddly his lips tilt in a teasing smile. His dark eyes shine. “Well done, Miss Sansa. You’ve bested me.” He jokingly bows at her and she snorts, but thoroughly amused. “I’m at your service.”_

_They do not notice their classmates eying them in curiosity. Sure they argue most of the time, would extend the class’ hours because of their opinions, but they would heatedly glare at anyone that implies a friendship between them._

_“Hey, hey, they’re kind of cute together.”_

_Their companion laughs a little. “No way, Sansa has a boyfriend. Harry, I think? He’s in political science.”_

_“Ah, a lawyer and a businesswoman make sense.” There was a pause as they witness the conversation between two legendary students; shoes pointed to each other, heads bent closer like privacy is assured, and no one is sure if they’re smiling or the lights of the classroom are flickering wrong._

_“But, man, wouldn’t they be cute together too?”_

_It took her weeks to cash in the advantage she earned over Jon. There was no intention to her request, an impulsive action that didn’t leave any regrets, later on, years and years from this moment._

_The dress she and her best friend bought crumples as she falls to the floor, clutching her phone with all her strength. If she had inhuman power, the phone would snap in two._

_“W-What do you mean you canceled the reservation?” Sansa whispers slowly, trying to let those horrible words sink in her mind. She cannot comprehend it._

_Weeks it took for her to buy the perfect dress; a soft cherry red with a sweetheart neckline sweeps on her knees and silky sleeves. Her hair right now is curled and flows down her back._

_The makeup she and Jeyne took hours on doing and debating about is now ruined, ruins down her powdered cheeks. The mascara feels heavier and it itches._

_Harry sighs from the other side. “Darling, I’m so sorry! There’s this dinner and my dad promised the senator I’d be there. If I impress this geezer, I could be his intern. And he’s amazing-“_

_The blond rambles on and on about the achievements of the politician, ranking more important than his girlfriend; their very first anniversary._

_“Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you!’” He promises. “I thought you’d understand, baby. This is really important for my career, our future.”_

_Sansa softly gasped, horrified at how bratty she’s acting when Harry has that sort of mentality. “I, I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so stupid and a brat.” She utters, guilt weighing heavily on her words it’s almost like she’s choking with her cries._

_Harry chuckles. “It’s fine. I’m glad you remembered, then. This is for us, baby. And I swear, we’ll go to somewhere very special for our anniversary.” Someone speaks from his side and he sighs. “I have to go. Bye, I love you!”_

_There’s still some lingering anger, at not being informed of this notably important dinner until the last minute. The tears continue their downpour and she isn’t sure if it’s out of frustration or sadness._

_Sansa wipes the makeup off then studies her gloomy face; the aftermath of the canceled date. She has looked forward to it for weeks. Every time Harry bragged about a surprise on this date, Sansa giggles and kisses him to shut him up._

_She wanted it to be a surprise but now it’s rotten._

_Staring at her phone, she runs through her contacts, thinking if she could still salvage the night somehow._

_Then-_

_Jon Snow_

_She sucks in a breath. Her finger hovers then presses on it._

_Jon answers on the third ring. “Hello, Sansa.”_

_She squirms on the stool in front of her vanity. “J-Jon, good evening.” She mumbles, her cheeks not needing any blush because this is so stupidly embarrassing and impulsive of her._

_And that’s the thing, she’s a creature of habit. She loves structure and routine. Her relationship with Harry is practical and comfortable. So, why on Earth is she calling her rival?_

_“Did you catch a cold? You’re sniffling.” Jon notes._

_“Am I interrupting your night?” Sansa asks, her fingers shine of the coat and tap against the wood of her vanity._

_“This counts as my break from studying, so no. What’s the matter?” He casually asks._

_The mirror blurs as tears pool in her eyes once more. She’s pathetic. She should be supporting her boyfriend in his dedication to their future. Why does it feel like she’s the bad person?_

_Yet, Jon wouldn’t understand any of her problems. He’s never been in a relationship. He wouldn’t know the struggle to care about other people. He’s like her, focused on his studies._

_“I,” Her voice cracks and she panics a little. Sitting straighter she says, “I want us to meet at the university café in fifteen minutes. And if you’re late-“_

_“-I’m not a rude person to keep a lady waiting.” His smooth reply made her smile. He’s such an idiot sometimes._

_And true to his words, Sansa spotted him by the entrance, in a huge coat like her. He smiles in greeting and his breath whitens from his mouth._

_“Will you be asking me to do your homework?” He teases her as soon as she stands before him._

_Then, he notices her stunning and shining dress underneath her heavy padded jacket. “Are we going somewhere? I’m underdressed.” He means his simple cream turtleneck, trousers, and loafers._

_Sansa wants to cry again because he doesn’t know anything she went through in the past hour. There’ll be no obligated pity talks and looks._

_“Let’s go to the convenience store.” Sansa demands and they walk through the university gates, cross the street, and arrive at their destination._

_Jon poorly hides his distaste of the place. It’s beneath them to step foot in a store like this but she roams the aisles; him trailing behind in hesitant and curious pace._

_“Sansa, why are we here?” Jon whispers in slight bafflement. He narrows his eyes when she carries two large cup of noodles. “She-demon what is your plan?”_

_Sansa turns to sneakily grin at him. “Jon, you and I have never tried something as terribly plain and unhealthy as these,” she shook her purchases for emphasis. “Until tonight. But hey, I bought you your favorite sparkling water as compensation.”_

_They sit outside of the store looking like the weirdest pair of students; her in the designer dress and him, dressed down and perplexed._

_Sansa waits until he tentatively slurps his noodles. She giggles when he scrunches his face in disgust. “Here.” She offers him the water bottle._

_Jon chugs it down and finishes half. “It’s so salty and spicy. It has no nutritional value.” He complains. “I do not understand the love for this monstrosity.”_

_She doesn’t know why the smile remains bright on her face, rivaling that of the moonlight or the fluorescent lights of the store._

_Maybe it’s because she’s beyond relieved she’s not sobbing in her apartment. The night is enjoyable because this person, willingly went out in this icy cold night to eat something they normally wouldn’t._

_“Eat up as well.” Jon orders and points his wooden chopsticks at her. “It will be even worse when it’s cold.”_

_The laugh escaping her mouth is loud and delightful. He almost smiles but instead stares at her; eyes soft and their hands could touch if only one of them would move an inch._

_That space is filled with questions and hesitation._

_“Are you okay?” Jon asks, his voice hush. “I think something happened.”_

_Sansa waits until she swallows the noodles. It’s good, not the sort she’d willingly try again. “I wanted to dress up for this.” She lies._

_He doesn’t budge. “Perhaps but…. wouldn’t your boyfriend worry you’re out at this time of night?” He asks a sensible person because that is what he is._

_Sansa can picture Harry, charming a room full of politicians and friends of his father. He’s charismatic and that’s one of the traits she loves about him._

_Now it worked against her and she’s eating cheap college food with Jon Snow._

_He hasn’t even texted her since he cancelled the dinner!_

_She holds her chopsticks tighter. “He won’t.” She bites out._

_He blinks, bewildered at the surge of ire on her beautiful face. That sort of expression is reserved for impending examinations and quizzes examinations and quizzes; not him pointing out the obvious._

_She’s in a pretty dress, her hair perfectly styled. The mention of her boyfriend made Sansa clench her jaw and glared at him. Ah, they fought. He silently concludes._

_“What would you do if you won?” Sansa asks, finishing her bottle of water but not the soup._

_He thinks for a moment before answering. “I have tickets to an art exhibition this weekend. I would’ve asked you to be my company if it's alright with you, of course.”_

_Sansa didn’t expect that to be his answer. He’s quite an interesting individual. “Really? That’s your punishment to me, an exclusive invitation to the gallery.” She laughs, unconvinced until he shows her a picture of the tickets._

_“My, I have been dying to attend that! It only happens once every four years.” She marveled. Her dark hair frames her excited face._

_The smile fits the outfit and nothing more could be as perfect as her, he thinks rather carelessly._

_He nods. “My friend is part of the exhibitors so tickets won’t be a problem. Well, we could still go.” He says._

_Sansa doesn’t think about anything else, holds his hands. “Holy Hell, why are you acting like this? I fed you horrid cup noodles! You’re a saint, Jon!”_

_It’ll cheer you up, he wanted to say but that would cause more problems than solutions. You’d be happy instead of trying so hard to not cry._

_He will never do anything that’ll discomfort her so he won’t ask._

_“All of my friends have tickets too.” He dismisses but he bites his cheek when she squeals and slaps his hands and thanking him profusely._

_Their plan became unintentionally twined and bloomed together, benefitting the rivals and students alike._

_The red of Sansa’s dress matches fate’s strings that tie them together._

_But this stubbornness to avoid inevitability will only scratch and burn their wrists; so they will learn._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“You should see a therapist.” Mother declared like a law, calm and stern. 

But Sansa is a lawbreaker and has paid the price for it.

She reached for the wine bottle, knowing full well Mother is watching her; a witness to disaster. The taste is familiar, buzzes her senses but her posture is rigid perfect. Whether out of tension or years of etiquette lessons, she isn’t certain anymore.

Sansa glances at Mother, unsurprised that the older woman is frowning; as much as a lady like her can anyways. “I know what’s wrong with me. I’m widowed and a drunk. There, I saved us thousands.” She slurred, not even _aware_ she’s at this point yet again.

The icy blue in Mother’s eyes could’ve enticed chills in Sansa if she wasn’t numb. “Money is not an object here. Even if you are aware, you don’t seem to care. Dear, you’re a mother yourself. You should know how to be a caretaker.”

It’s another lesson Sansa wishes to avoid. Her eyes slide away from Mother, to the open garden where her son chased fireflies. She nearly wants Luke back so their space so the talk will cease.

There is guilt, of course, at the brutal honesty laid down like a carpet but it cannot hide the hideous truth; of how messed up she is. 

Sansa leans back on the sofa and finishes her glass; one of the hundreds she consumed since Harry’s death. She breathed but it sounded wrong and weak. 

“I’m just tired, Mother.” She murmured, staring at her hands; the same ones that were coated in her husband’s blood when she sprinted to the hospital. 

How pathetic she was. Begging the doctors to do everything they can to save Harry, to hope so unseeingly it would’ve been funny if it wasn’t her. 

“Your soul has become a burden, my dear. I shall inquire for the finest professionals for you.” Mother said firmly.

Sansa stands up, plans to bring the bottle of wine with her as she goes to Luke. 

Mother snatches the bottle and looks up at her. An apology weighs down on her tongue, at the pity Sansa feels for her mother, for this woman to be begrudgingly caring to a failure like herself. God, she wants that drink.

“If not for yourself then get help for Luke. He needs his mother.” She pleaded quietly.

Sansa shakes off the feeble hold and walks into the garden to find Luke bent down at the fish pond. She kneels next to him, her sundress poofing about her hips.

Luke noticed and immediately fretted, tiny hands-on hers. “Mama, get up your dress will be dirty!” He scolds.

She giggles but she’s not sure if she’s inebriated or happy; maybe she can’t distinguish emotions anymore. 

“But I want to hang out with my baby!” She coos and hugs him. “And what’re you looking at here?”

Luke grumbles but leans against her. “There is a lot of Koi fish here. They just swim around. Dogs are better. When can we get one?”

Sansa briefly worries if her breath is sour. If he can already distinguish the different sides of his mother and can pinpoint the glassy eyes and trembling frown. Luke hasn’t said anything so maybe it’s fine. 

“When I have the time, little star!” Sansa promises and kisses his cheek.

Luke huffs. “You’re always busy.” He complains and her heart breaks a little at that. 

Sansa sighs and presses her head to his. “I’ll check my schedule tomorrow. Hopefully, Sunday will be so _awfully_ boring I have to cancel. Would you want a castle bed for your puppy?”

She’s a skilled conversationalist; having been talking with vain politicians and greedy partners and clients. 

Under the moonlight, Luke’s eyes sparkle as he talks about dogs. Sansa isn’t sure if his eyes are brilliant purple or the precise and cuter shade of sapphire. She blinks, alcohol gives her this comforting haze, and she still can’t decide.

Why would she even speculate? Luke is the child of her and her husband; no one else.

So she listens to her son ramble. Come tomorrow, she won’t recall anything Luke is talking about. 

Sansa’s hangover was mild, enough to compartmentalize so she can have the strength to cook breakfast. It isn’t common she does this for her son because of her carefully planned day throughout the week. 

Now, her hair is a messy ball on her head, she’s in her pajamas and a pink laced apron is tied around her waist. She’s humming and flipping pancakes that’ll go nicely with the sunny side up eggs. 

“Mama!” Luke squealed and hugged her. The beam is warmer and more beautiful than the sun. “You’re cooking?”

Sansa rubs his cheek affectionately. “Of course, my son. We have a busy day ahead of us.” She answers and kisses his nose.

His shoulders slump a fraction lower and she dodges the action, her hand grips the ladle a little tighter. “I know. You have work and I have piano lessons.”

She smirks like she gained a huge deal with stakeholders. “Darling boy, we’ll do none of that because today, we’ll be buying your _dog!_ Surprise!”

Luke jumped and clapped his hands. “Really?” He repeated the word in sheer excitement; his reaction was so adorable her cheeks hurt from smiling. “I love you, Mama!”

Sansa turns the stove off and hugs him, thanking Mother that she texted Sansa about what she said while she was drunk.

“Let’s go eat first, hm?” She suggested and the boy grins; dimples cheeks, happy, and everything Harry can’t do right now. 

After they ate, they went to a pet shop Jeyne suggested. Luke, having been reading up for this dreamy moment, spent two hours ranting and marvelling at the different kinds of dogs they have for sale.

He nearly outdid the shop employee, not that the teenager cared. She helped him throughout the process while Sansa handled the price and everything else. 

“Aunt Jeyne told me of another shop with better dog supplies. Shall we go there?” Sansa suggested.

Luke bent down and inspected his new pet. “I’ll name him Storm.” He decides.

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Why?” 

“Because he looks like one, Mama.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> must be weird im writing an angsty fic with Christmas so near sksjsjjsjs
> 
> what's the vibe with harry, lads????


	4. you can think you're in love when you're really just in pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from Moral of the Story by Ashe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun, fun fact: sansa and jeyne call each other sisters bc jeyne was engaged to robb but then the accident happened.  
> oh and the reason why i update so frequently is bc my draft is already 30k+ rn so yeah imma annoy u guys with this lsjdskljds

“Ma’am, your 10 o’clock is here.” Sansa’s assistant declares by the glass door and a tall, blonde-haired man, walked into her office.

He’s handsome as the news praises him to be. Confident in the manner he sits across her, his eyes were glittering grassy green, and he wears the smile that graces magazines and makes teenagers swoon. 

His attempt at being formal is noted; slim fit grey three-piece suit, a thin gold stripe pinned to his navy dark tie. He dresses like a meeting with her is equivalent to a sparkly celebrity event. 

Sansa catches her assistant lingering, subtly taking pics of her guest. 

_Beautiful people will attract trouble and a crowd. I’ve had enough of that._

“I have to say, I’m surprised you arranged a meeting with me, Miss Stark. Are you a fan of my works?” Willas wonders and tilts his head.

It was an adorable action but they’re in a formal meeting so she has to focus on the matter at hand. 

She has to agree on that. What use is a musician to a businesswoman? A lot since he’s the solution.

“I’m arranging a charity recital. Inviting world-class pianists is the obvious thing to do. My staff recommended you, among the internationally acclaimed talents.” She answers, straight to the point. She clasps her fingers and places them on the table, beside her laptop. “Are you interested, Mr. Willas?”

 _“_ Yes, absolutely.” He replies, amusing the chairwoman.

Sansa sits straighter. “Just like that?” She couldn’t help but laugh. All her life, this line of work she’s walking on, the people she meets are iron-willed and stubborn. “I made proposals and such. You’re not interested in reading them? Granted, I gave you a week to think it over.”

Mr. Willas adjusts in his seat. “No need for persuasion, Miss Stark. Besides, you make me curious.”

“Curious?” She echoes in mild puzzlement but then her small hand clenches on her thigh. “Ah, you’re used to giggly women and would like to meet the Tragic Heiress in person.” Her words are acidic, could burn a hole from the top floor down to the underground parking lot. “Tell me, do I give justice to the tragic stories the media has flashed in the past two years? Or did you imagine a veil over my face?"

There was silence as she glares at him.

“I, no, of course not, ma’am!” Willas stammered pathetically and Sansa nearly rolled her eyes. “You’re Jon’s friend and that _is_ a curious thing!”

Sansa laughs, her hand on her mouth. “My, I apologize for my assumption. It’s just that _most_ people associate me with……yeah…” She pauses as she processes the musician’s response. “Mr. Snow? How did you know about that?”

“I mentioned our dinner in the chatroom and he immediately reacted! He was like ‘It’s _Miss Sansa_ to you.” Mr. Willas mimicked her friend in a comical way, making his voice deeper and Sansa giggled. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We were classmates.” She answered.

“Did you guys date?” Mr. Willas asks in a serious manner. “He’s not interested in anyone, in the years I’ve known him. So just imagine my utter shock when he acts all defensive when you’re mentioned. And he has never talked about you.”

Sansa sat straighter, his face is serious, something she didn’t think he was capable of expressing. But she’s been told he’s an aspiring actor so he’s practicing every chance he gets.

“Our parents are good friends.” Sansa tries again but he doesn’t appear convinced. Is this a trial she’ll lose?

“Now this is interesting!” Mr. Willas exclaims and Sansa curses, the conversation has gone off the rails. “How come both of you can’t just say you’re friends? What happened?”

_Nothing, that is the point._

“I know our world is built on connections and a false sense of trust, but I’m getting the feeling the only reason why you’re in my office is so you can interrogate me.” Sansa snaps, even Robert flinched, seated at his own desk. “If you’re treating my offer as a joke, then I suggest you leave before more time has been wasted on this.”

Willas whistled, propping his leg on his other thigh. “You’re as intense as he is!” He muses. “I’ll take the job, Ma’am!”

She glared at him. “Are your goals aligned to mine, then?”

“Hardly, I do not have a multimillion company in my name. Well, being all business and suits do not fit my pretty face.” Willas snorts then smirk. “I want to get to know the woman Jon is so protective about. So, now let's arrange my schedule. I have a film coming up!”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sansa doesn’t have luxurious time to make home-cooked meals but it’s a Sunday which means lunch with her younger sister. And Jeyne is terribly spoiled by her so she can’t resist.

“Luke, you can tie the bento.” She instructs her son, who has been watching her move around the kitchen, preparing their lunch.

The little boy hastily tied the polka-dotted cloth and grinned, proud of his handiwork. “I’m so excited to see Auntie, again!” He squeals and bounces on the silver stool.

She laughs and undoes the knot of the apron tied around her waist. “Let’s get dressed, then, hm? We wouldn’t want Jeyne to be hungry.”

The outfit she chose is simple; a floor-length sky blue dress, a thin cardigan, and ankle boots. She tied her hair in a high ponytail and put on minimal makeup. Luke wore a simple polo shirt, shorts, and sneakers.

They arrived at her sister's workplace; an animal clinic. There weren’t a lot of people at this time. His secretary heartily greets them, standing up and bows. Her short chestnut hair is pinned by hairpins and her glasses shone by the afternoon light.

“Is she done with a patient?” She asks and stands before the reception.

“Dr. Poole is still with her patient. And between us, Miss Stark, it’s her pickiest client.” She said, agony almost comical.

The door swings open and they hear two voices; both she’s awfully familiar with. Her eyes narrow but her son’s face brightened up.

Her best friend is a genius; went to college at a young age, double major, and is now a licensed veterinarian and a marine biologist. It was her goal to open up an animal clinic and so they stand inside her dream.

She stood with an average height, shaggy mocha locks messily tied at the nape of her neck. A navy shirt with silly doodles, slacks, and a long white coat is what she usually wears.

“Mama, I want a dog like that!” Luke exclaims, pointing at the Siberian Husky standing tall and fierce.

The doctor cackles. “Luke, honey, why don’t you greet me first?” She whines and bends down to catch the running little boy and lifts him up her arms

The atrocious customer mentioned to her before was none other than Mr. Jon Snow, her eternal rival. He’s in a sleek onyx suit, matching tie with a thin golden pin.

There was a slight surprise on his face.

She wants to leave the clinic but the family must come first of embarrassment.

“Good afternoon, Auntie!” Luke happily chirps and pecks his cheek.

“Good afternoon to you too, Miss Sansa.” Mr. Snow says, deep voice, the sort that cuts through conversation and demands attention in a boardroom meeting.

If she was a lesser person, Sansa might’ve been flustered, but they are equals, so she bobs her head. “So, you have a Dog.” She gestures to the white flurry ball ruby red eyes, and a thick body leash around him.

Luke bounced against Jeyne’s side. “You have a really pretty dog, Mister. What’s her name?”

“His name is Ghost.” Mr. Snow answers then arch a brow when Sansa snorted.

“That is the coolest name ever!” Luke praised and stared at the canine in wonder.

Her little sister darts her curious gaze between them. “You two know each other?”

“College.” They answered in unison.

Jeyne helps her son settle his feet on the ground and he stood in front of the other CEO, bright-eyed, and dimples denting her round cheeks. “Wait, _the_ Jon Snow? Sansa’s classmate?” She clarified, despite the fact that Sansa has been sending silent signals to _not_ act like this.

He shrugs. “Yes.”

“Can I pet Ghost, Mister?”

“No, absolutely not.” Mr. Snow grumbles and slightly glowers at the boy.

The doctor rolls her eyes and secretly eyed her secretary. She shrugs and she notices the bento box Sansa is carrying. “Oh, yes, it’s a Sunday! Come on, let’s have lunch.” She walks over and takes the bento then presses a kiss on Sansa’s cheek. “Yumi, you can join us too!”

The brunette grins. “I’d love too but my boyfriend and I have a lunch date so, if you please, sir.” She bows at them, fetches her purse, and goes out the door.

“You can have lunch with us, Mister,” Luke suggested, staring up at the dog, almost as tall as he is. He has his hands behind his back, curls immaculately messy, and flashes a smile no person with a beating heart can resist.

Mr. Snow narrowed his eyes. “Are you negotiating a meal to an opportunity to spend time with my Ghost?” He asks, suspicion heavy in his voice.

Jeyne glanced at her in question. She wants to facepalm so bad, at how embarrassing they’re acting.

But, Luke is her son, groomed to become a leader one day, so he’ll never back down.

“Mother’s meals are splendid, sir. They’re so delicious.” He suggested and Jeyne whistles.

Mr. Snow’s impassive façade morphed to slight amusement. He eyed Sansa. “You have a troublesome son, Miss Sansa.” He muses then straightens his broad shoulders. “Luke, I’ll have to supervise you when you give head pats to Ghost. He’s very specific-“

“-Thank you, Mr. Snow! Let’s go to the backroom!” Luke exclaims, grabbing Mr. Snow’s hand and drags him to where Jeyne leads them to eat.

“Stop giving me that look,” Sansa grumbles as she adjusts the cardigan.

The doctor shakes her head. “Interesting guy you got there, Sans.” She jokes then stands at her side. “No, but really, he’s a weirdo. He is _obsessed_ with his dog-like Ghost is his son or something.” She whispers as they walk to their lunch.

Sansa sighs. “I just wanted a quiet meal with you.” She muttered and she laughs.

“Aw, sis, you know that’ll be too boring for us.” She snorts and opens the door for her.

Jeyne and Luke help each other in setting up the plates, utensils, and glasses. Sansa sat across Mr. Snow and observed him to be awkward.

She leans forward, some strands of her hair frame her cheeks and she offers him a gentle smile. “I apologize for my insistent son, Mr. Snow. And, I’ll talk to him out of wanting to hold your Dog.”

The silence between them lasted for a few breaths. “I do not mind.” He chuckles when she scoffs. “Honestly, I do not. He appreciates Ghost.” He casually announces and he thanks her son when he fills his glass of water.

“So, can I please play with your Dog, sir?” Luke pleads, hands in a prayer gesture, and wills his beautiful eyes bigger.

But her rival is a heartless man.

He smiles though so maybe the rumors are wrong.

“After we have our meal, Luke.” He sighs in false defeat.

Throughout the meal, Jeyne talks of the different pets he treated, his delight in his profession is shown through his fondness in tone and relaxed body language. Meanwhile, Luke keeps on asking Mr. Snow questions about his dog, fascinated at his devotion to taking care of Ghost.

“Isn’t my bestie a wonderful cook, Mr. Snow?” Jeyne fishes and slings an arm on her shoulders. “You should try her pastries!”

Mr. Snow dabbed the corner of his mouth with the table napkin. “Miss Sansa is truly an accomplished woman.” He agrees.

Sansa drinks her water, to prevent the smile to curl her lips. “I’m glad you enjoy my cooking, sir.” She replied.

“I think Ghost would like to have some.” Luke hums in a singsong song, takes a spoon from his plate, and approaches the cage. The boy pauses and glances at the Dog’s owner. “Can I?”

Mr. Snow, much to her surprise, nods.

Luke walks to the Dog, unlatches the lock, and hovers the silver spoon near the Dog’s mouth. “Here you go, Ghost! My mom loves cooking for other people. Auntie says she loves cooking for Papa when he was alive.”

The boy is oblivious to the awkwardness that followed after his fond words. He laughs as the dog tentatively dips his cotton pink tongue into the soup.

Jeyne clears his throat, eying the quiet woman, her spoon touches the rim of the bowl, and she’s staring at the table. “Sans, I’m sorry about missing your grand entrance to the business world.” She laughs, high and nervous. “There was this stupidly important meet up with a client.”

She’s grateful for the half-baked salvation. “Oh, you traveled with your crew again, right? How was the reserve?” She asks.

She went on detail about the animals she observed, the fascinating programs and routines the laboratory creates to take care of the different species available in their branch. Her face often lightens up when he speaks about his profession, a sparkle that makes her happy as well.

It’s a miracle Mr. Poole allowed his youngest to venture into her genuine interests. Perhaps Jeyne’s father realized her true passion isn’t with numbers and people, but with taking care of animals and the environment.

“That _is_ fascinating.” Mr. Snow blurted.

She forgot he was there with them!

Luke is using some of the toys on display on the shelves and started to play with the huge dog.

“You’re a marine biologist _and_ took up veterinary? You must be a double major when you were a college student.” He continued in a perplexing tone of genuine interest.

Jeyne nods and smirks. “Went abroad for my studies, sir. I qualified for the international scholarship but my parents’…. generosity knows no bound.” She explains lightly.

He opened his blazer, got a shiny card, and offered it to Jeyne.

“What’s this?”

“I know an organization that is always looking for bright individuals that succeed in their chosen fields. It’s a charity gala as well. You can contribute to your heart’s desire.” Mr. Snow explained as Jeyne examined the details written on the small card. “We’re holding the party soon. It would be beneficial on both parties if you’d attend, Dr. Poole.”

Jeyne places the card in the breast pocket of her white coat. “That’s the sort of ridiculously elite and prestigious parties I detest. I’ll _have_ to invite the Stark because she’s older and more experienced.” She slurps the soup until she’s finished.

Sansa frowns, baffled. “I don’t understand the reason, Mr. Snow. I’m not anything extraordinary.” She rebuts, as easily as she breathes. _I’m not even enough._ “I’m flattered for the invite though.” 

The pair are startled, a jump in their relaxed posture.

Mr. Snow leans forward, fathomless eyes sharpened, and she’s enraptured by the intensity of his stare. “Miss Sansa, you’re such an admirable woman. You _are_ an exceptional person. I wouldn’t have chosen you as my rival if you weren’t special.” He declares in a deep tone.

Luke has Ghost in his lap, as the dog is focused on the stick he’s waving at her face. He shows them a toothy beam. “Mama is the one and only!” He exclaims then continues to tease the Dog.

Jeyne eyed them with a cheeky smile. “Is that what they call it nowadays…. _Rivalry_?” She wonders and yelps when Sansa kicks her in the shin since the young scientist sits beside her.

“Your sister and I are competing in terms of our profession, Dr. Poole.” He answers in his usual brutal honesty. It’s almost endearing.

“Yeah, you gotta keep it spicy. Make things exciting and whatnot.” Jeyne further jokes. It’s funnier because Mr. Snow doesn’t catch the implication and so the joke runs longer.

Sansa glares at her friend. “How would you know anything, Jeyne? You’ve never been interested in anyone in years!” She snorts but she bites her tongue in belated realization.

Jeyne looks down at her empty bowl.

_You’ve only ever loved one man. He loved dogs too. You’re taking care of Greywind ever since…._

“Mama, I want a puppy just like Ghost!” Luke shouts and brings Mr. Snow’s Dog with him, the dog is sniffing the boy’s head and licks his cheek. “I promise to take care of them!”

Mr. Snow moves away from her and pets his dog. “Are you sure you can handle it, Luke? Taking care of something as precious as a dog is a very serious and responsible thing to do.”

Luke puffs his chest but Sansa so dearly wants to pinch his cheeks. He doesn’t have to worry about anything, she’ll buy him anything he wants. “I will because I’m a man!” He promises, amusing the adults.

Mr. Snow’s phone rang and he rises from the seat, to murmur into the phone.

“Your boyfriend’s really fucking weird,” Jeyne mutters under her breath, making sure Luke, across from them, doesn’t mimic the profanity.

Sansa gawks. “Wh-what? He’s not my-we’re not dating, Jeyne. That’s an unpleasant thing to say to your sister.” She warns and smacks her arm.

“Wait, you’re not dating but you’ve been flirting the entire lunchtime, Sans.” Jeyne teases.

“I have a meeting to attend. Thank you for the meal. And Assistant Satin will inform you both about the party’s information.” Mr. Snow announced and lightly smiled at Luke. “I hope you’ll take care of yourself, young man.”

“Yes, Mr. Snow. Can I see Ghost sometimes?” He requests and bent down to wave at the Dog. He barks and her son giggles.

Mr. Snow’s lips titled to one side. “Ghost doesn’t usually get along with new people. You must be special, Luke, like your mother.” He says it like a fact.

Sansa isn’t sure if he’s complimenting her or just making a conversion. She stands up. “I’ll walk you out.” She volunteers.

They walk side by side and when they reach outside of the clinic, Sansa sighs. “I’m so sorry for the troubles my son has caused you, Mr. Snow. He’s been fascinated with dogs lately and seeing yours, I think now, he’ll be more obsessed.” She laughs.

He presses his hand down his blazer. “I do not mind interacting with a fellow admirer of Ghost.” He answers. “Your family is certainly interesting, like you.”

“Me?” She scoffs, arms crossed. “I may not be normal…. But I’m not…. I don’t know.” The laugh she did was of self-deprecation.

He frowns in disapproval, stepping forward. Her heart got caught in her throat at the sudden loss of distance between them. “Why is it you’re blind to your own skills? You’re a phenomenal woman, Miss Sansa.” He lifts his hand, to tuck some of her hair behind her ear in such a tender motion she wanted to nuzzle at his-

Everyone _knows_ he is a man of stone, mind of a genius, and an apathetic prince.

She repeats this in her mind as she studies him. In the manner his eyes don’t stray from hers, their chests so close, and her nose catches a hint of his cologne, so like him her tongue tingles.

“What happened to you, Miss Sansa?” He softly asks, bending his head to crowd her in a way she doesn’t feel trapped… but more alone with him. “Where’s the confident girl that I wanted to defeat? Where’s your self-confidence?”

_Many terrible things happened; one after the other. The girl you knew was killed along with her husband and his sins. He sank his claws deep into my soul and rendered me empty; took my heart and soul to his grave._

Tears stung at the corner of her eyes. She flattens her palm on his chest, fingers toying the intricate knot of his sleek black tie. “Must be nice.” She croaks, fully aware of their closeness. “To have assurance like a king, to not _worry_ about yourself like how I do every day.”

If she moves an inch closer, his lips would caress her forehead.

_Harry grins. “Wear my forehead kisses like a crown. You’re my wife and queen after all!” He gushes._

_And she laughs, delighted and oh so armored by this angelic man._

“I may have changed but you, you’re still the insufferable heir I knew.” Sansa softly says, wondering if it was an insult. But he isn’t as petty as her to feel that emotion.

He laughs and the breath skims above her head. “That’s a nickname I haven’t heard in a long time.” He muses, looks down at her. “I want you to be at your best, Miss Sansa. It’s no fun to beat a dead horse.”

Sansa scowls at him, deepening the amusement on his face. “Even if I’m in this state, the triumph is all mine, Mr. Snow.”

“That’s more like it.” He quietly praises.

The heat spreads on her face, a shy rosy red shade.

“Thank you for inviting my friend to your party. She doesn’t have any friends so socializing in that event would do her some good.” She thinks and tilts her chin higher to meet his gaze.

“It’ll do you good too. You can properly show off.” Mr. Snow suggests and they quietly laugh.

His phone buzzes and the name _Driver Kim_ flashes on his phone. “Ah, he must be nearby. Good day to you, Miss Sansa.” He waves at her as he walks down the street, talking to his chauffeur with his gigantic dog at his side, tail wagging, and steps bouncy and joyful.

“We can look for dogs together, hm?” Jeyne shouts and ruffles Luke’s hair. “I know because I’m the best at animals.”

Luke thinks about it for a moment. “That’s true, Auntie! You’re very, very smart.” He says with a grin.

The doctor groans. “See, this is why you’re my favorite nephew, baby boy luke!” He says and presses a kiss on the crown of Luke’s head, cackling when the boy violently protested against it.

“Can I have a dog like Mr. Snow?” Luke said and jumped a little. His bright eyes told Sansa of his excitement and how this isn’t just some phase but a true consideration on her son’s part.

“Of course!” Jeyne agrees. “Come on, your mom’s waiting for us.”

They hold hands and walk towards her.

“Mama, mama, can we buy books about Dogs? Mr. Snow says it’ll make me smarter.” He says, bouncing on his steps.

Sansa pats his head. “Of course, darling. Please wait in the car and tell the driver that as well.”

When the kid climbs in the car, she accepts the woven basket from her sister but she tugs it back. Curious, she frowns. “Jeyne, please return the basket.”

“You know how in college, you dyed your hair black because it was some half-assed act of rebellion? It was funny but hey, you looked really pretty in black hair.” Jeyne hums in false curiosity. “You and Jon almost looked related. Some thought you guys were cousins!”

The redhead glowered fiercely at her sister, to bring up such an asinine fact. “So what?” She growled, annoyed, and uncomfortable.

Jeyne stepped closer. “I bet, it was really weird seeing Jon and Luke together, hm? An awkward family lunch.” She whispers with delight at seeing Sansa blanch. “You’re honest about everything to me. So, you know, a fleeting thought. Plus, I finally get to see both of you flirt so horribly, like goddamn school kids.”

“Oh, we _weren’t_!” Sansa denied, a little too swift, her cheeks reddened, and her eyes wide. “We were talking.”

She shrugs. “That’s one way of flirtation. And hey, it’s totally fine! You’ve been out of the loop since college. I want you happy.” She earnestly tells the flustered mother. “And it’s cool that he already is bonding with your son; a perfect family!”

She rolls her eyes and curls her hands on the basket tighter. “You idiot, I’ll be going now.” She huffs but waves when she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (what do u think of the plot so far? more theories? what about harry?)


	5. those eyes add insult to injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just pure unfiltered angst. 
> 
> i think this story will be one of my faves bc its complicated and dark and so sad. 
> 
> i wanna know your thoughts!!! (its ok to cry in the comments too bc i tear up whenever i write this story lmao)  
> i forogt to add this flashback. i read the comments of how harry was, so i added this!!!

_Jeyne clicks her tongue. “If Harry cancels on you again, dump his dumb ass!” She warns as she wags the mascara in the air._

_Sansa giggles. She sits at the stool in front of the vanity; her hair styled in a chignon with silk ribbons, the dress is different now; a softer shade of red like this first love she’s basking in as much as the natural makeup that they practiced for hours._

_“He won’t.” She firmly says, a wish breathed into the air. “I wouldn’t know what to do if he did.”_

_Harry sent a car to pick her up and bring her to the destination. Throughout the ride, Sansa’s knee kept on bouncing, she regards the mundane city life as glittery and prides in herself because her boyfriend is planning a surprise while they walk out in the cold._

_Walking into the restaurant, she notices there are no other people; no bustling waiters carrying dinners and glasses of alcohol and iced tea. She quietly gasps at seeing Harry stand in front of a decorated table; candles inside golden cages, rose petals artfully scattered on the floor around them, and he’s sharply dressed._

_His lush sunshine hair is gelled back, showing off his high forehead. In the dimly lit room, his sky eyes are brighter and her heart beats faster. When he smiled, dimples denting his cheeks, Sansa squealed and ran up to him._

_He hugged her and kissed her head; the cologne tickled her tongue. “Happy anniversary, baby!” He cheers then slides the clothed covered chair. “Come on, let’s have dinner.” He holds her hand while they ordered, his thumb caresses the bump of her knuckles._

_“How was dinner?” Sansa asks. You know, the event that was more important than this._

_Their dinners came and Harry continued to talk about the witty conversations and promising words of his soon to be mentors. His excitement was contagious because she mimicked his action as well. Her man is so passionate about his career it’s adorable._

_“Anyways,” Harry chuckles, “Here, want to try mine?” He slices his steak and feeds it to her._

_Sansa chews and smiles. “I love you.” She says to him._

_Harry brightens up. “Angel, I love you!” He gushes in adoration. “I have something to ask you.”_

_“Sure!” Sansa chirps, taking a sip of her iced tea. “I have a present for you.” She places the paper bag on the table as he slides a flat rectangular box to her._

_Harry yells in surprise. His eyes are wide and Sansa is completely enamored with her boyfriend’s cuteness. “How did you get this? It hasn’t been released anywhere!” He waves the game she got for him._

_“Mother helped me. We contacted the company that develops the game. And, we got that as a freebie in return for a contract.” She answers._

_“Now open yours!” He urges._

_The watch fits her wrist perfectly; diamonds dotted the surface in an eye-catching way that she knew girls at her class would envy her. It’s gold but not so very obvious, only in some angles, and Sansa absolutely adores his gift._

_“It’s matching mine, sweetheart.” Harry sings and shows his off. He’s correct but he is thicker than hers. “I thought about the couple rings but maybe next year. I saw this and had to buy it!”_

_Sansa swoon at his casual confidence in their relationship; that there’ll be a second anniversary! She’s so elated right now. “Thank you, Harry. You’re so sweet to me!” She professes, her hand on his, and see inspects their matching watches. “I really love it.”_

_“Why were you with Jon on the night of our anniversary?” Harry sweetly asks, his hand tightened on hers and Sansa sat rigidly, icy shock washed through her nerves. Happiness gives way to fright. “It was late, early morning in fact, and I saw him at the dorm lobby. Were you that lonely? You went out with Jon Snow?”_

_Sansa scoots forward to the table. “My love,” She softly cries in alarm. There is no reasonable explanation for why she asked Jon Snow to hang out with her that night. Guilt consumes her. Harry is loving and attentive to her right now. And yet she betrays his trust by being with other guys._

_(What she won’t say is that she doesn’t regret it. Jon is a friend to her. He, in his awkward and indifferent way, comforted her that night and she values him.)_

_“We had a group study.” Sansa blurted out and held his intense eye contact. “I… I needed a distraction and I called some of my classmates so we could go over a few chapters in the library.”_

_Her answer should be reasonably be said in a calm manner so Harry wouldn’t catch her nervousness as an answer to something else._

_Harry’s face softened and he laughs. “My little nerd,” He coos but then Sansa can see the way his love hardens on his angelic face. “I don’t like you talking with Jon.”_

_He clicks his tongue and she realized Harry doesn’t want explanations. He wants her to listen to his implied warnings._

_“What-he’s my classmate? How can I not talk to him?”_

_“Darling,” He sighs. “I gave up smoking because you didn’t like it. How about do the same for me? And is Jon really that important? You’re my girlfriend.”_

_“O-Okay, Harry.” She obeys and likes the way he calls her ‘girlfriend’. “And Jon, he’s just a classmate. We’re not even friends!”_

_Harry grins. “Good. You’re mine.”_

_Yes, yes, I am, she affirms._

_And for the longest time, that’s the harshest truth Sansa has known._

/\/\/\

Rumors are never to be believed.

Magazines are built from lies, for the mere goal to sell a story. Jon has never placed any stock in stories from people that have nothing else to do in their mundane lives.

And then-

“Sansa Stark is a drunk.”

“After her miscarriage, she was hospitalized for puking her guts out. I heard, she loves drinking as much as she loved Mr. Harry. That's so messed up of her!”

“A drunk widow taking care of a child? That’s so wrong!”

“She's filthy rich but she's such a mess. God, I pity her son!”

“Miss Stark is an addict! She can’t be a parent.”

Jon tightened his hold on the wine glass. His merciless gaze surveys the buzzing party, the reason for the event escapes him; mind focused on finding the faceless people that speak against Sansa.

Yet, he spots her, standing out from the crowd of tuxedos and silk dresses.

She’s very beautiful as usual; lustrous auburn hair curled down to the ends and gems decorating the waves, her smile radiant, and she wears a shimmering sapphire floor-length gown. The glass she holds hasn’t been touched which means she hasn’t drank all night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, to comfort himself rumors will forever stay as they are.

It escapes him the reason for his worry over her public image. He wants to outdo her in their professional field and not to scowl at any person that wrongly talks about his friend. _Friend,_ Jon wants to emphasize because there is no other thing to label them with, any that wouldn’t lead to trouble anyway.

He moves towards her, feeling like it’s been this way his entire life. Yet, some European bankers approached him, scotch on one hand, and started to talk and he has no choice but to entertain them. Occasionally, Jon makes sure that Sansa is within his visual field throughout the whole tedious conversation.

They laugh and he smiles because he catches the ends of her dress at the corner of his eye.

She talks with other people, older and more powerful men. Jon has the same dilemma but they do not regard him with barely-hidden desire. Why couldn’t they see Sansa in the same light as he does? She’s a terrific and intelligent woman; someone who’s headstrong, determined, and not to be objectified by leering men. His jaw hurts from the constant clench, restraining himself from rudely ending the current conversation he’s not listening to, and marches over to his friend.

And do what exactly? Make a fool of himself, no doubt.

When they part, Assistant Satin taking down notes of their contact details for further discussions on things Jon can’t recall. He’s beyond relieved he’s free now.

But he can’t find Sansa anywhere in the dazzling gold ballroom.

Some of Father’s colleagues corner him. They talk about the company’s faring, business, and other things he couldn’t care less about.

“You know Jon,” His chin wobbles, hidden in the grey bush of his beard. “Your father is currently with a beautiful blonde actress. He’s more in the game than you are!”

Jon couldn’t restrain the glower, startling the old men surrounding him. “The women Father content himself with is his own business. I prefer to focus on more productive matters like the Company.”

He says this in the usual confidence he’s born with, circumstance and privilege strengthened it further. At the same time, he takes note of Sansa’s absence, cannot recall where she stood or the last person she talked to.

“Assistant Satin.” He barks at the stern tone. “Enjoy the party then turn over the report of the clients we’ve dealt with tonight by tomorrow morning.” Not waiting for his response, he moves to the exit, pushing the French door to open.

Loosening the tie, Jon aimlessly wanders around the vast hotel corridor. It wasn’t totally avoidable for people to talk about his father with him and his…. Preferences…. He just wished people are subtle about it.

As for his situation, there’s nothing wrong with it!

Someone emerged from the women’s bathroom and to his utter surprise, it’s Sansa; the person he’s wanted to talk to, probably the only reason he attends social events.

There was something wrong, he can tell. Years of watching her from afar, he can see the devastation on her face, a constant look, and something in his chest collapses. He feels helpless, seeing Sansa like this and not know what to do.

If only Sansa talks to him, but perhaps she has her own reason.

“Oh, Mr. Snow, good evening.” Sansa lowly says, hands behind her back. The smile is a mere action; she’s not happy to see him or maybe at all.

Jon stares at her, the blue in her eyes are paler than usual; a mere fraction of her loneliness reflects in her eyes. “How do you find the party?”

“Rather dull. I had to get out of there.” Sansa laughs.

 _Good,_ he thinks, _I don’t like the way other men stare at you in want. No one should leer at you the way those vile lusting and married men do. You deserve to be revered._

“And you?” She hums, ambles to stand in front of him. “You’re alone with me. So you must be bored of it too?”

His shoulders slump and he nods his head. “Yes, I wish I was with Ghost right now but we must attend these things once in a while.” He confesses, amusing his companion.

Sansa glances at the door behind her. “This is a smaller ballroom, has a lovely balcony overseeing the city. Would you like to see it?” She asks but already has a hand on the golden knob.

What creature could ever refuse Sansa?

They both lean on the black curved rails. She is correct; the twinkling lights of buildings, the cold breeze skimming on their skins, and the comforting silence that can be so cozy and intimate. He removes his blazer and hands it to her.

Her hand laps on his, stopping him in his intent of comfort. “Oh, I am fine, Mr. Snow.”

_For the longest time, you haven’t been okay. You don’t want to talk about it, fine, but, please God-_

“Amuse me.” He replies coolly. 

With pinched eyebrows, Sansa follows through.

“How’s your son? I am sure you miss him, would rather be with him than be here.” He states because it’s the truth. He understands because h has Ghost, almost like a son to him.

A genuine smile softens Sansa’s face and it’s enough to make him smile as well. “Luke has a dog now, named Storm.” She starts and then began to explain how her son is well-informed in ways of being a dog owner which endlessly amuses him.

“He’d like to show you he’s a capable person. Oh and he told me he’d love for you and Ghost to visit us. A playdate with a puppy and that monstrous wolf of yours would definitely be entertaining.” Sansa lightly suggests.

And Jon can already imagine the happiness in that scenario; brighten up their lives if only for one meal and a night. It’s such a domestic notion; Luke playing with their cats, him and Sansa sharing a bottle of wine, mindless chatter about their day and how lunch was delicious.

Oddly, he isn’t opposed to it, warmth blooms in his chest.

Sansa turns to him, her cheek on her palm. “But we’re both awfully busy people so that cannot happen and I did my best to explain it to my son.”

Jon frowns. He didn’t like the casual manner Sansa thinks he won’t go over to her house for a peaceful picnic. “And what did he say?”

She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m always busy so he… understands.” She weakly replies but then eyes him in surprise. “Ah, I’m sorry for ranting and taking up your time. You should go back to the party.”

_Not if it means you’ll be lonely again._

“I’m not so busy in the holidays. Maybe you can come over for dinner.” Jon paused, startled at the brazen words filling the air between them. “If you’re not occupied then, I, if it’s alright with you of course.”

She lays her hand on his arm, which could’ve been a flirtatious move that’s accompanied by a brilliant grin. “Mr. Snow, you don’t have to be pressured about this. My son…. He wants to be strong, wants to prove it, and you’re not obligated to do it because a little boy wants you to. We can’t let him be excessively spoiled.”

He shouldn’t feel offended but he is. Luke is a promising and bright young boy. He’d like to see what kind of person he’ll grow up to be, especially under Sansa’s care.

“You are correct but I want it too.” He insists. _We could be a family._

Sansa closes her eyes and groans.

He frowns. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine, just… a headache.” She answers, waving his concerns away. She stands up but sways and Jon steady her, their faces are close, and he can smell the whiskey on her.

So maybe she drank more than he expected. What he’s seeing doesn’t have to confirm the things he’s been hearing. She’s a troubled soul, after all, and though he doesn’t understand the depths of it, he will help her in any way that he can.

“Let’s get you home.” Jon murmurs, his hand loosely curled on her elbow.

Sansa pouts, a cute action Jon knows she doesn’t do sober. “Why?” She stops and Jon catches the tremble in her hands, small and icy. “I can’t let Luke see me like this. Fresh air will sober me up.”

He understands the pressure to uphold an image, to the public or someone like her son. It can break a person, even someone as strong as his rival.

“You.. you don’t have to go home. My house is nearer.” He suggested and he winces when she gawks at him. “I will not take advantage of you, Miss Sansa-“

“No, no, I know that, Mr. Snow. You’re honest to a fault.” She quickly answers and tilts her head to the side. “And I don’t need your pity either.”

“W-what?” Jon stammers.

“You think I’m a pathetic person, lingering in the hallways, isolating myself from the party. I’m sad and you want to comfort me? Oh, _please_!” Sansa bit out and tore the blazer draped along her shoulders. “I’m not lonely and I’m….” Her glassy eyes dart around the beautiful evening background. “I’m fine…”

She walks away before he could defend himself, to argue that she isn’t fine at all… to make her stay so the loneliness won’t be her only companion.

_I can stay if you’ll let me._

_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_

Theon is the one who picked her up; just one text and he’s leaning on his car, smoking, as he stares at her; teary-eyed, wobbles to him as though she’s only learning how to walk.

He directs her to the secluded area of the hotel, very well knows the mentality these reporters have and he’s thankful no one is a witness to Sansa Stark being a mess at his side. It’s always been like this; he smokes and she cries into her palms.

“God….” Sansa mumbled. “I’m such a horrible person.”

Theon presses his lips to the side of her head. The woman does not notice the move because she’s lost in her woes. “Hop in, Sansa.” He says, walking around his sports car and opens the door.

Sansa grabs his arm in a trembling grasp. Looking up, her vibrant oceanic eyes resemble a tsunami of emotions. “Thank you, Theon. I’m so… thankful you’re here with me.” She professes, nails digging into his arm but he doesn’t flinch, would endure the violence of her grief if it means it’ll lessen the weight in her chest.

“Anything for you, Sans.” He breathes and looks sideways to exhale the grey smoke filling his mouth; bitter and lingering heat.

She sits in the front and together, they drive to her mansion; extravagantly empty because Luke is in his room, probably sleeping already. Their footfalls echo in the vats living room, no staff to greet them or take her coat so Theon does it for her.

He helps her climb up the broad and velvet-covered stairs. Arriving at her bedroom, she goes to the bathroom with the pajama set and he places her shoes in the luxurious walk-in cabinet.

When she emerges, Sansa flops down on the bed, slips under the cloudy sheets, and groans.

Theon, in his suit and styled shoes, bounces at her side. “So, what’d you do for you to keep on grunting like a caveman?” He wonders and his hand loosens the tie Sansa did for him.

Sansa curls on her side, frowning up at him with the blankets up to her chin. “Do you also think I’m pathetic like this? I’m always drinking and sometimes, I can’t look my son in the eyes because-“ She sniffles and closes her eyes. 

He frowns, disliking her attitude. “Who the hell told you those things?” He growls.

She sighs once more. “No one really, but come on, that’s what people _must_ think of me! I am utterly pathetic.” She slurs, hazy eyes focused at him, her rose-pink mouth trembles in the waves of her sadness. “Please don’t make me attend any parties.”

Her hand shot out of the sheets and she grasps his hand in desperation. “I don’t want to go anymore.” She sobs and presses her face into the pillow. “Maybe Mother is right.”

He pushes some of her inky strands out of her face; her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and it’s a tragic sort of beauty she holds, holds _him_ in a trance-like this. “What the witch say?”

“I should go to therapy. I’m an under-qualified Mother. And she’s _correct,”_ Sansa sobs into his open and rough palm. “It’s so difficult, Theon. I’m so tired all the time.”

“So rest, Sans.” Theon bends down to whisper these words against her cheek and kisses her there, soft patch of skin; it isn’t suspicious for a best friend to do this and tenderly stroke her hair as she snores and sniffles in the same breath.

He exits the bedroom, surprised to see Luke standing in the wide hallway. “Hey, kid!” he greets, bends down, and ruffles Luke’s raven curls. "What are you doing out of bed? It's wayy past your bedtime. You'll get ugly wrinkles if you keep on doing this." 

The boy hugs his fluffy grey dragon stuffed toy and peeks over his shoulder. “Why is Mama thirsty all the time? She keeps on drinking and gets sick.” He asks, in that innocent tone and it strikes something in Theon. "It must hurt her tummy and head all the time." 

It’s the horror of the boy noticing at such a young age and he has the urge to protect Luke from Sansa’s inevitable destruction. She wasn’t always like this. She was happy, had so much potential, but one man ruined her life.

He sighs. “Your mother thinks it’s what’s best for her, but I don’t think it is.” He’s glad he threw the cigarette before he went out of the bedroom.

“Does she need medicine? Mama must have a tummy ache from drinking that much juice. Let’s go to the bathroom.” The boy insists, holding Theon by the wrist and drags him back to Sansa’s bathroom.

He lets the boy rummage through Sansa’s medicine cabinet. Smiling falsely, he thanks Luke, looks down at him; pretty purple eyes and dark curly hair. _He doesn’t look like Sansa or her husband at all. So maybe what Jeyne has been saying these past few years could be correct?_

“Uncle Theon,” Luke calls, and as he holds a few aspirins and a glass of warm water. “you can go and sleep. It’s late. I’ll take care of Mama.”

Theon sighs. “Make sure you sleep right after, okay? You have lessons tomorrow.”

Luke nodded. “Yes, sir!”

Theon paused by the foot of the bed.

He just _knows_ if things went differently if Sansa had been stronger back then, none of them would be in this mess. But love makes people weak and stupid; Sansa was a hopeless romantic and her dead husband took that hope out of her. If he had _known,_ noticed the signs, then maybe he'd be in jail for what he had planned to do with Harry. 

Fishing out his phone, he dials a familiar phone number.

“Jeyne, I hope you don't mind me calling! Also, I also really hope you're not dissecting a raccoon or something.” He greets the sleepy doctor.

_You absolute ass, I'm sleeping. And I do not dissect raccoons in my profession. How fucking stupid are you?_

He thinks back to Luke and Sansa's words, of avoiding her son. "Well apparently, a lot dumber than I assumed." 


	6. all i know, loving you is a losing game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to put this up as a separate chapter bc it's a bit long and the next chapter is immensely sad, like fuck but anyways i hope this sheds a light to their unnamed dynamic. tell me how you feel guys!!!
> 
> (happy new year guys!!)

_Sansa promised she’d stay away from Jon, to ease his growing paranoia._

_She heard from other girls that it’s cute when their boyfriends are jealous. Do they mean the manner Harry glares at her when she mentions Jon? Do they include how he hates it when she hangouts with her study group? Her friends wonder about her constant absence but then ends up with the conclusion she’s too happy with Harry._

_The words dance on her tongue but fear holds them back._

_It worked on her side for a few weeks, with guilt bubbling in her when she catches him looking at her._

_What she couldn’t prevent is Jon going to her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, thoughtless and instinctive. Such a dangerous notion to entertain, Sansa knows, but it lingers in her mind nonetheless._

_She opens the door of her apartment, pleasantly surprised to find Jon on the other side. There is no panic because quite frankly she’s relieved to see him again._

_“Jon, hello!” She says, ushers him in but notices how silent he is. Her classmate is usually the quiet type but somehow, there’s something telling her this is different from his personality._

_He plops down on the couch. “I’m sorry for intruding like this, Miss Sansa.” He mumbles. “I have nowhere else to go. My friends are all at the local pub.”_

_She laughs. “I’m not at all offended, Mr. Snow. So, tell me, why are you-“ The questioned ended abruptly as she saw his sullen eyes, the frown not borne out of annoyance, but out of sadness. Her guess is correct. “Are you alright? Would you want some tea?”_

_“I-I’d like that.” He admits._

_During the water boiled, Sansa has stolen hundreds of glances at her classmate trying to figure out the answers she won’t dare ask him. What if he doesn’t like her being nosy?_

_She gave him a cup of tea and sat next to him. “Are you trying to distract me from my studies? If so, you won’t succeed. I’ve done my advanced readings so I’m well off for the next few weeks.” She declared in pride._

_Jon’s smile was tired. “I see.” He says, darting eyes, before he focuses on the coffee table. “Miss Sansa, is it alright if I ask you an invasive question?”_

_She frowns. “I do not mind at all.” No words can perfectly encapsulate how comfortable his presence is._

_“Are you happy with your relationship with Harry?”_

_Sansa holds tight on the pillow at her lap. She’s thinking so hard why Jon wants to know about that. All he needs to do is lend an ear when their classmates gush about her recent instagram posts; how cute they were on their last dates, the luxurious places her boyfriend takes her to, the expensive gifts they give each other; it’s all sicken romantic._

_She’s sick and tired of listening to those mindless idiots praise them as the Campus’ It Couple._

_Or has Jon lived under a rock to not know any of it?_

_But maybe, she’s hesitant to admit the jagged reality, her fingers are cut from the glares Harry sends her way if she dresses a little too pretty or if she gets a text from Jon or her other friends._

_If Sansa breathes the words, she cannot take them back. Maybe she’s looking into things too seriously because this is her first relationship. She should be grateful and blessed someone as perfect as Harry is dating her._

_“Yes,” Sansa answers, a smile too bright._

_Jon sighs. “I’ve never been in a relationship myself or in a situation as serious as yours. Some people say you and Harry will be the most perfect couple if you get married.” He relays the gossip he hears with no conviction behind it._

_“But why are you asking me?” Sansa managed to ask._

_“My father isn’t the paragon of a good husband. He lies and cheats. He brings different and younger women under our roof.” Jon explains and leans closer. “I don’t want to be with other people if it means I’ll end up like him.”_

_Sansa cups his cheeks. “You’ve been drinking, Mr. Snow.” She quietly admonishes him. “Does his constant betrayal hurt you so much? He disrespects your mother, hm?”_

_Tears filled his eyes and he nodded, too hurt to say it in words._

_Whether by accident or her denial of true motivations; her one hand combs through his curls, agreeing with their classmates that he has the fluffiest and best hair. There’s a sense of pride flushing her cheeks, to earn the privilege of holding him like this, to know the weight of his troubles and hair._

_No one else, at least for a while, will share her knowledge._

_Jon leans his forehead on her shoulder, softly cries, and then he’s hugging her! He breathes heavily and brings her closer._

_“Catastrophe runs in the family, Sansa. I-I’m so frustrated at that asshole.” He admits into her clothed shoulder and she nuzzles her cheek against his, a wolf giving comfort to her kin._

_Sansa should push him away. She has a loving and overreacting boyfriend. If Harry knew Jon is here, along with her, and she’s in his arms, well it’s no short of an exaggeration that Harry would violently flip out._

_Yet, she hugs him tighter, loves the warmth he has, wants so desperately to comfort her rival. She can’t exactly be best if her competition is crying in her apartment, can she?_

_“Drinking won’t solve anything. It probably numbs you but, it won’t help you.” Sansa slowly says and she looks at a face that’s tormented by the sins of his family. This just shows how much of a good person Jon is, pure despite his black clothes and dark eyes._

_“If you’re so troubled, you can talk to me anytime,” Sansa suggests, brushing some of the strands of hair from his beautiful eyes. Girls are correct, his shade of black matches that of an abyss and it’s so captivating up close._

_“Is your relationship so perfect that you don’t need someone to listen to your problems?” Jon asks, holding her hand snow, cradles them on his lap. “I want to help you too.”_

_Sansa nearly confesses her doubts, but this is about him and his dilemmas. “I want to listen to you though. You came here and I’m willing to help you in any way I can, Mr. Snow.” She assures Jon._

_Instead of talking though, he lays his head on her lap. She doesn’t protest, occasionally run her fingers through his curls._

_Sansa falls asleep and Jon unconsciously grabs her hand, presses it against his chest as he begins to snore._

_She should promise it’ll be the last time this will happen. But that would mean denying them the warmth their bodies provide, the sort of calmness nothing in the world has but this silence between them._

_It happens at random intervals. Sometimes, not for months and Sansa catches herself waiting with freshly brewed tea and their study materials spread out on the coffee table._

_Harry is the same, intense and loving. Sansa takes off the cold silver couple ring whenever Jon comes over to study. That is just a pretense though because halfway through reviewing, Jon would just lean against her and she’d gently advise him to place his head on her lap._

_“I haven’t drunk since I first came here,” Jon admits._

_Sansa smiles and traces the slope of his tall nose. He’s so handsome, she thinks. “That’s good.”_

_“Your tea is better anyway.” He huffs and closes his eyes._

_She brings her hand closer to his and on instinct, he reaches for it, curls their hands against his chest. For comfort, for a reminder they’re not alone; or perhaps to comfort themselves to think this is safe._

_Maybe Harry was right, she ranks her friends higher than her own boyfriend._

_Jon is above all else, she realizes with a small smile._


	7. this is the last time i let you in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad times ahead.... 
> 
> tell me ur thoughts

It’s that horrible day of the year once more; Sansa hates it so much.

She goes through several meetings, fully engaged in the important talks because they serve as an excusable distraction. Her painted nails drum against the table, wishing time could speed up and freeze at the same time.

 _I don’t want to go through this again._ The urge to fill a glass of alcohol and numb out the pain, but she thinks of Mother, the broken expression and it saddens Sansa deeply.

Lunch came around but she has no time to fully enjoy her meal. She picks up the chopsticks but lifts her head when the door opens.

She’s surprised to find Luke running to her. He’s all giggly and hugs her legs. “Dear, what are you doing here?” She frets a hand on his chubby cheek. “Are you alright? You’re not sick, are you?”

“I am deeply sorry for troubling you, Ma’am but the boy was persistent.” Mr. Fred, their chauffeur, explains and deeply bows.

Sansa smiles, no one can resist her adorable son. “It is alright.” 

“Mama, I want to see the place where the recital will be. It’s almost Papa’s birthday and I want to show him my skills!” Luke chirps and pats her hand. He steals a strip of chicken from her salad and gives her an impish grin. “Please?”

Sansa bites the inside of her cheek, disliking how bright and excited her oblivious son is to the upcoming event. If anyone else were to suggest such a thing, she’d immediately shut it down. But how could she refuse her only child?

“Don’t you have class?” Sansa hums, poking his cheek.

“Mama, my classes are only in the morning. Come on, please?” Her son continues on his pleas.

Robert enters the office, unaware of the scene because he’s staring down at his clipboard. “Ma’am, the inspection of the Music Hall is 1 p.m. sharp. The artists will be there for the rehearsal and-“ He stopped talking when Luke clapped his hands in utter delight. Laughing awkwardly, he scratches the back of his head. “I’m sorry for interrupting your privacy, ma’am.”

“On the contrary, your timing is perfect, Mr. Robert.” Sansa argues, stands up, and holds Luke’s hand. “We shall go to the Music Hall.” She glances at their driver and he gets the message. “Let’s go.”

Her lanky assistant makes conversation with her son throughout the ride. Luke’s entertained, talks about his classes while Sansa is in deep thought.

When they entered the vast theatre, there are crew people all around the place, carrying orders, some walking onstage but she can’t tell if they’re the artists or stage staff.

“Wow!” Luke shouts and looks up at his mother. “Mama, this place is _huge_! I wanna meet the other pianists!” He demanded and tugs her gloved hand.

Mr. Robert briefly explains the list of performers they have collected. He includes the conductor and the band they have hired. He mentions the stage director and points them out.

When her presence is known, on the stage, with dazzling lights softening the jewelleries and her cherry red pantsuit, people bow to her as though she’s royalty. It’s close enough though for she has several companies on her palm, influence runs deep like ancient twisted roots underground.

She converses with everyone involved, thanking them for their hard work and dedication. People asked to take pictures and she does, reluctantly, finding it awkward she forgot how to smile.

Her son runs on the maple flooring, asking the pianists for their names and begs them to play with him. He stands in front of Willas and bows. “Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Willas!” He exclaims.

The actor laughs and ruffles Luke’s curls. “My boy, it’s no problem! I love playing the piano!” He answers. “Say, I was about to practice. How about you join me? A little Chopin can be so homey, hm?”

Luke flounced to the sleek onyx piano planted on center stage.

Sansa turns towards her son, crosses her arms, and briefly realizes this is the first time she’ll be hearing Luke play. She trusts his tutor’s report on his progress so she never pondered on his _actual_ performance.

Shame pierced her heart but she shakes it off, determined to fully appreciate her son’s skill and the thousands of dollars she spent on that international tutor.

Willas started off strongly, lighter tunes then Luke smoothly intervened with swift notes. They both swayed as their fingers skimmed along the piano keys. Everyone stopped working and talking just to watch the actor and a boy to play.

Her foot taps along the cheery song. She brightly beams, biased and proud at how skilled her son is. Luke will have the world if he’ll ask for it, Sansa will make sure.

When their duet is finished, Sansa’s claps are the loudest. She goes to Luke, hugging him and kisses his cheeks. “Oh my son, you are so talented!” She cooed and she looks at to find Willas smiling at them. “And you too, Mr. Willas, no wonder you were recommended by my staff.”

“That and my handsomeness will help you in the views.” The beloved actor man jested and Luke giggled. “I don’t think I’ve met a six year old that can play Chopin with ease like that. It’s scary!”

Luke puffs his chest. “Of course, I want to be my best for Papa!” He exclaims.

Sansa looks away for a moment, composing herself. _I don’t want to be reminded why I’m doing this._ “You’re the best, baby boy.” She praises.

“Mama, I’m thirsty.” Luke says with a frown.

She snaps her fingers and Mr. Robert stands behind his boss. He guides the boy out of the theatre.

Sansa stands up. “I shall host a celebratory lunch for everyone here. You’re free to join us, Mr. Willas.” She invites him politely.

Willas relaxes on the padded bench, smiles at her. She studies the curve of his mouth, wonders how she can convey the similar false politeness as he does right now. “Miss Sansa, it’s a surprise to see you here. And wow, your son is super talented! You’re terrifyingly perfect, your family.”

She clenches her hands but relaxes in the next minute. It’s a compliment and not a jab. She’s supposed to feel flattered, not annoyed. She should-

“Thank you, I do try.” Sansa replies.

“What instruments do you play?” He asks, skimming his fingers along the keys without a plan.

Sansa sits next to him, legs brushing, and she stares at the black and white tiles. “I used to play the violin but I stopped.” She answers.

Mr. Willas walked off and returned with a guitar. “This instrument is more common than a violin. So, how about I teach you how to play it?”

She frowns and he laughs, deep chested in delight. Now, she understands the hype in his beauty and charm. _But all I can see is my husband in front of me. I want to flee._

He teaches her how to properly handle it, gentle hands on her gloved ones. It was simple, balancing the wooden craft on her thigh and she looks up at him in question.

“That’s good. Now, there are a few simple notes you can do.” He reaches out to her hair. He stopped when she flinched. “I-I’m sorry. I just thought they’d get in the way.”

Luke and Mr. Robert must still be lining up in the cafeteria because until now, they haven’t returned. Sansa ties her hair back and listens to Mr. Willas’s instructions on how to strum note son the strings.

“It’d probably be more effective without the gloves.” Mr. Willas hesitantly pointed out, glittering eyes on her; he’s waiting for the rejection that no doubt she’ll utter. She’s a proper lady and they’re not the kind to bare themselves to men in public places and private conversations.

“Or maybe, you’re not a very good teacher?” Sansa whispers and they quietly laugh. “My, I think I did two notes!” She gushed, tilted her chin up, realizing Mr. Willas is staring at her; their noses near and she can definitely sympathize with his crazed fanbase. _He’s so beautiful. Why is he here alone with me?_

“Well, you have a gifted son. I’m not surprised if you’re talented too, Miss Stark.” Mr. Willas said with a grin, dimples on his cheeks, and Sansa smiles.

“If you want to impress your shareholders more with your guitar skills, give me a call.” Mr. Willas suggested.

Sansa laughed and he grinned more. “If only that’s the only thing I need to win over clients over, Mr. Willas.” She teased back.

“It’s so amazing that you’re doing all this for your deceased husband, Miss Sansa.” Mr. Willas marvels, the sparkly tone annoys her. “A charity musical recital, it’s really touching. People do amazing things when they’re in love.”

Sansa wanted to toss the guitar on the floor, destroy it so she doesn’t slap this musician. It’s no one’s fault, really, she _knows_ but for the longest time, she’s been reduced to an irrational woman.

Her feelings sharpened and pointed to her throat, the man who made her emotions into a weapon is six feet under. But the fight isn’t over even when her enemy is in hell. Her lips tremble but Mr. Willas doesn’t notice. The actor is too good for her anyway.

Luckily;, she turns when Luke and Mr. Robert walk up to her.

Luke hands her a carton of apple juice. “I got this for you, Mama.” He hands her the box. “You love apple juice.”

She accepts it and glances over at the actor. “You’re welcome to dine with us, Mr. Willas.” She says.

The musician nodded and slowly retracts the guitar from her. “Sure, yeah, that’d be fun!”

After the visit and lunch, Sansa locks herself in the office. No one, not even Robert can enter the room.

She collapses on the couch near the door, gathers the glass bottles of whiskey and brandy. Her glass is constantly filled and the hours went by, alcohol has invaded her system.

Work is meaningless, like her life. She cannot recall the last time she felt satisfied with anything she’s accomplished, is constantly haunted by Harry’s shadow. The meetings she attended this morning boasted of the company’s improvement in every aspect; they made more profit than when Harry was the CEO.

Pride held her heart for a few moments because she knew she’d outrank Jon in no time at all. But how come the entire time, through her employees rant about the company’s greatness, she hears Harry’s voice in her head.

_“Aw, is my little nerd so accomplished? Are you sure about that? Do you even deserve to sit as a chairwoman?”_

_“You’re a mess, a shameless wife. You honestly think you deserve to be CEO and a wonderful mother?”_

Years of being a housewife, Sansa sometimes finds herself in her husband’s study, skims through the documents laid about on the cherry wood desk. She was horrified at how she doesn’t understand the business jargons anymore; her time is consumed with her son’s needs and the care of their properties and estates.

_Why bother sending me to an elite university if I’ll just be locked in my husband’s vast mansion?_

It was a wrong feeling to be relieved, hearing the news of Harry’s accident. She knew this means she’ll have the crown once more, but the shock and stress burst in her and-

Sansa’s hand, the one that doesn’t cradle the whiskey glass like it’s her salvation, caresses her stomach. The miscarriage wasn’t expected and her grief nearly choked the life out of her. She couldn’t quite act on it though, paper works to be done, Luke needed to be tended because he didn’t understand why Harry is in a casket, and, and-

She softly sobs into her hand, blindly reaches for her phone. Reading the name of her friend, she calls Jeyne.

“I’m so tired.” Sansa sobs into the phone call, not caring if Jeyne answered or not. “I don’t know why I created this stupid fucking recital for Harry.” At his name, Sansa drinks up another glass. The bottles are emptied and she reaches for a bottle of wine now. “I can’t handle this anymore! Luke idolizes his bastard of a father so much it sickens me. He ruined and twisted me into his creature!”

The tears dot on her maroon dress and she’s on the floor now, thankful her employees fear and respect her too much to invade her tonight. She closes her eyes and grips the phone tighter.

“I’m an insane person for loving someone like him. Jeyne, when I found out I was pregnant, I thought things could change. We were happy when I had Luke. But then he fucking _died,_ and I lost the baby too.” Sansa whimpers, rocks back and forth. Her voice is rough from her cries and quite frankly, she doesn’t care if her assistant or anyone else sees her like this; driven mad by grief. “This is God saying I don’t deserve happiness. I can’t be happy. I cheated too. I’m a sinner, damned to hell. I want to k-kill myself. I-“

She looks down and she gasps.

The phone call is with _Jon Snow_ and not her friend. She must’ve been too distracted to look down and see to whom she’s talking. “J-Jon…” She mutters before ending the call.

Sansa finishes the wine bottle. Her head spins in its own space and bitter tears continued to trace her cheeks. She tries to call Jeyne as she planned but her vision is hazy and she can’t focus on anything. Thankfully, there’s a nearby trash bin and she throws up so she can drink more.

The door opens and to her horror, it’s Jon.

“Sansa!” He says and rushes to her, cradles her tear-stained cheeks. “Come here.” He lowly says and helps her to stand.

Sansa resists, punches him weakly, and sways in his arms. His indigo blazer has spots because she keeps on crying and cursing his kind heart. “Why are you here? That was an accident. I meant to call-“

“You are so stubborn.” Jon quietly admonishes, his hand smoothens on her messy hair. “Why won’t you let me comfort you like how you used to with me?”

“What?” The businesswoman wonders with a snort. “When did I help you?”

Jon sighs. “You cannot recall, that makes sense. But please, let me help you.”

Sansa groans and buries her head on his chest. “If you help me now, I’ll fall for you again.” How is it he isn’t repulsed by her? She reeks of alcohol and her hair is all messy and knotted. “You deserve better, not me…”

He couldn’t understand her ramble and pats her head. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He says and combs his fingers through her hair.

She sighs and purrs like a touch starve alley cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i hope im not glamorizing alcoholism or anything like that. please tell me if i am and i will immediately reassess those specific scenes. its never my intention to take a serious disorder ever so lightly bc it has ruined countless of lives.
> 
> thank you for your support!!!!!!!!


	8. cross-legged in the dim light/they say 'what a sad sight'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this while listening to 'right where you left me' by taylor swift on repeat

Jon appears at the apartment in the usual time on the most dreadful day.

He doesn’t need to knock because he’s been given the extra key. Wandering to the living room, he spots his friend; sitting on the couch, staring at the turned off television. There’s an arranged bouquet by the glass coffee, grim determination on the poor man’s face, and Jon places two cold bottles of beers on the leather coaster.

He relaxes on the couch and takes a few sips of his drink before the silence is broken.

“If you weren’t here, I think I would’ve-“

“You would’ve drowned in the yacht. Thank the gods I pulled your ass out of the water. You didn’t know anything about sailing, idiot.” Jon cleanly intervenes. The opening statement never changes.

Gendry faces him; clean cut and wears a three piece suit. It’s the one outfit that he borrowed from Jon; for her funeral. Even with Jon’s blue moon rare pleadings of returning the three piece suit back, Gendry refuses and Jon saw the desperation and thinks of another person.

Grief changed him too, Jon thinks.

“She-“ His throat bobs and he turns away from the businessman. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Jon obliges and drives them to the destination. Gendry’s fingers tap on his knee or he fiddles with the silver ring on his left hand. He wanted to relax the engineer , to lie and say everything will be fine, but it’s been two years.

Gendry has trouble referring to his beloved in past tense. He gets teary eyed when he sees the things Arya would have loved. Jon comforts him because that’s what Robb would do. He isn’t the caring and emotional type, that was _Robb_ for them. He had sisters, knew how to handle and properly take care of them.

That stupid car crash transformed their lives for the worst.

Stepping out, Jon squinted his eyes and brought out his dark sunglasses. He misses the brilliance of the blue sky and the perfectly calm and sluggish pace of clouds.

Gendry shifts the bouquet on his hands and his bushy eyebrows wrinkle in frustration. “Why is the day so perfect? Gods above, this is fucking ridiculous!” He growls.

Acres of pristinely cut emerald grass stretches before them, huge and old trees with wide and twisting branches that create comfortable shadowed spots. Tombstones are planted but they walk past all of them and go for the imposing mausoleums. 

Jon keeps an eye on Gendry the entire time. Their friendship goes way back in college, young and foolish. He reaches out and steadies Gendry when he abruptly pauses at the base of the stairs, blankly gazes at the iron gates.

He doesn’t know it but Gendry has a knack for creating things that it isn’t a surprise he made the key just by studying the locks and chains securing the deceased Starks.

 _I’m gifted in things that don’t matter,_ Gendry once scoffed.

The suited men enter.

There lies before them is the dead Starks, killed in a car crash that greatly saddens the North. Politics ran deep in the Stark’s legacy; basically molded the North to its glory and riches. It’s only the power but Ned Stark genuinely loved his people and their country. He’s the face of kindness and became the standard of every politician anywhere in Westeros and beyond.

But now, he’s buried with his children.

And Gendry hasn’t stopped crying.

Jon steps outside know he shouldn’t witness a person so devoted act on the torment of loving someone who’s lost. He lights a cigarette and adjusts the spruce blue trench coat.

They do this ever since the accident happened; he picks up Gendry, drives him here so he can cry at Arya's grave, and he smokes a pack before they get shit faced until later into the night.

It’s not coping at all. Robb and Arya would’ve _hated_ it but Jon doesn’t know any other way to soothe Gendry’s torn soul. It’s a goddamn miracle the engineer is still alive, actually. Thankfully, the yacht is beyond repair so Gendry can’t get drunk and try sailing on his own again.

He exhales the warm and sour smoke, thinks of Sansa. This day couldn’t possibly be easy for her. There’s this itch to call her but he doubts the redhead would acknowledge his existence; not when the pain blinds her to everything.

Jon distances himself from the entrance because he could hear Gendry’s ramble to someone who’s probably not listening. He’s patient when it comes to these things, to broken people and their broken hearts.

He wonders what Robb would do and arrives at the conclusion that they’re doing the wrong thing; to stay fractured, poke at the blood clotted wounds, and their blurred eyes. Stare at empty beer bottles.

_Gendry pulls Jon to the counter. Robb and Theon stay oblivious, tipsy, and guffawing at something idiotic. “Okay, I’m going to tell them.”_

_Jon snorts and eyes their empty glasses, makes sure it’s filled to the brim with what’s about to happen. “Robb is going to kill you.” He retorts._

_The engineer to be, groans in the pocket of his throat. “Fuck you! Robb is practically engaged to Sansa’s best friend. And Sansa hasn’t even castrated Robb.” He complains and vaguely gestures to their other best friends. “Arya’s happy. I mean, I think she is. So, like, you know? why not”_

_“Fuck, we need tequila to get through the night.” Jon laughs and shoves Gendry his shot glass. “We both know Robb is insanely protective of his sisters. He will, and I say this with every bit of kindness in my body, fucking beat you up for touching his youngest sister.”_

_Gendry glares and Jon laughs. “We’re not there yet. I’m a virgin.” He grumbles._

_Jon has tears in his eyes, delighted in at his best friend’s worrisome rants. “No, you’re about to get fucked!”_

_But no one told Robb anything. For once, Gendry was too shit scared to admit he’s in love with Arya. The tipsy men listen to Robb, the future of the North, and his plans to marry Jeyne Poole._

_Jon grins looks around at his friends as they drink at their usual pub. Robb wants to be a husband before he starts his campaign. Gendry is planning out the steps to his revelation before Robb inevitably murders him. Theon is eyeing the bartender. And Jon has plans with Sansa; a tour of the Gallery Exhibition._

_“Cheers, lads!” Jon bellows and their drinks spill to their hands. They’re happy, in love, and slightly drunk._

“Oh, uh, hi guys.” Theon nonchalantly announced and waved at them.

“Oh my God, Mr. Snow?”

Jon turns, cigarette hanging on his lips, and finds a peculiar scene. Theon stands beside Ghost’s veterinarian. He gawks at Theon.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growls.

Theon tilts his head to the side. “How did you get the key? None of you idiots would, oh wait, did you _make_ your own key?” He wonders, red splotches on his freckled cheeks.

Gendry steps out of the mausoleum, dabbing his shiny cheeks and runny nose. He spots them and freezes. “I’m not a thief. Technically, I didn’t steal any keys. I made my own.” He defended himself.

Jon groans. “Well thank the Heavens you’re not a lawyer too.” He dryly remarks. 

“Fine, let me ask this, why are you with Robb’s fiancé?”

Theon stood in front of Gendry. “Are you implying something?”

The engineer rolls his eyes. “No, I am _asking_.”

“O- _kay!”_ Jeyne’s shriek pierces the awkward air, sharp of frustration, and glares at the men that don’t meet her eyes. “Who is this weepy man and don’t you guys see this is a break-in? And Mr. Snow, I hope you’re feeding Ghost his vitamins. They are _very much_ needed!”

Jon continues to smoke and thankfully the infuriated woman misses the way he rolled his eyes. “Yes, Ghost hates it so of course, I feed them to the beast.” He replies then catches the way Gendry is studying Jeyne in a way he never had the chance to.

It’s the first time they met and Jon was so sure this would never happen.

“I’m Gendry Waters.” He answered unnecessarily honest and naïve. He puts his hand out for the small and glowering woman. “Arya’s boyfriend.”

Jon chokes on the curling smoke like it’s he’s a teenager and it’s his first time smoking. He punches his chest and Gendry is quick to soothe him and rub his back. “Fuck.” He rasps. “Oh, _now_ you tell them, huh?”

Theon stood rigid and Jeyne is aghast with horror. “N-no! This isn’t my girlfriend. This is Jeyne.” He emphasized her name. “You’re kidding, right? You cannot possibly-wait, _who?_ Don’t tell me it’s Sansa!”

Jon stiffened at that last statement. He drops his half-finished cigarette and announces, “So, lunch, everyone?”

“What the fuck?” Jeyne and Theon say.

“The oblivious moron is buying,” Gendry grumbles as he raises his hand. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They settle at a nice corner in Wintertown; people bustle, the scent of delicious meals wafted in the air and Jon recalls he skipped breakfast; too concerned for Gendry to look for anything but the black coffee.

“So, who are you and how did you get the key to the Stark’s place?” Jeyne pointed her metallic knife at Gendry.

Jon shifted on his seat, drooling at the sight of the sizzling meat, warm and steamed vegetables just the way he likes it. The iced tea is just perfect with that slice of lemon on the-

“I’m Arya’s boyfriend,” Gendry announces and Theon coughed. He blinked, blushed, and corrected himself. “W-was, I—I was her boyfriend.”

The air around them sours so Jon slices the thick slice of beef, adores how the sauce covers it and it tastes so damn good.

Jeyne laughs and laughs but the men don’t react. Her wide brown eyes catch Gendry’s nervous tic, to twist the silver ring on his left hand. He grabs his hand and examines it.

“This is part of a couple’s ring. Old fucking Gods, you dated Arya?!” She screams.

The nearby people look their way, perks up in hearing the name because she was Ned Stark’s daughter.

Jon stared, silently laments that his delectable lunch is now ruined by the secret and confusion of it all. He stares at Theon and kicks his shin.

Theon shoves a spoonful of bacon in his mouth. “How come I didn’t know that little bugger had a love life?” He grumbled and pierces through the meat a little too cleanly like it’s meant to leave a stab wound. “Aren’t we best friends or whatever?”

Jon knows Theon hates being left behind. He breathes out and replies, “There was never a time for it.” He found himself saying, damn near rammed his fork into his eye for saying something so stupid.

“And you, you’re wearing an engagement ring ‘round your neck.” Gendry drawls out, still processing the odd flow of events.

Jeyne’s hand twisted the diamond ring that acts as a centerpiece for her necklace. She smiles, tipped off and gloomy. “I found a box in his apartment. It contained two rings and I-I just-“

 _Wore it reminds you of my dead best friend,_ Jon finished in his mind.

Jeyne looks down, shudders, and presses the table napkin on her nose. “I didn’t _know_ Arya had a boyfriend!” She says instead. “She’s so headstrong and independent.”

Theon swiped his table napkin on his greasy mouth. “You know Arya, she was, well you know, fucking terrifying.” He laughs.

Jon had an urge to call Sansa. He didn’t know _why_ but he kept this tic at bay, to not follow his instincts because he’s sure she wants to be left alone on this horrible day.

He pauses and looks around. They’re dining in a nice restaurant on a stupidly bright sunny day. _We shouldn’t be like this. Why’d we left the cemetery?_

Jon rubs his palms down his thighs, gives up on the restrained that’s frayed and fairly destroyed. “They had plans to reveal it but….. but the timing was fucked up.”

Gendry orders beers. Jeyne’s eyes became fragile. Theon has been observing Jeyne the entire time.

_She died before they could be really happy and let everyone know. Robb never knew, never got the chance to wring Gendry’s neck for loving his youngest sister. Nothing and everything happened._

The beers came and Jon’s hand had been on his phone the entire afternoon.

“Gendry,” Jeyne calls, adjusts her rounds glasses on her small nose. “It’s really… nice that you still visit Arya on the Anniversary.” She mutters.

“Well, when your last girlfriend, the person you honestly thought you’d settle down with, dies in a sudden car crash; it’s sort of difficult to move on.” Gendry deadpans, effectively makes their lunch even more awkward than it should be.

The lunch ends in a bittersweet tone.

Jon and Gendry stare as Jeyne and Theon enter a cab together.

“You think Arya would’ve really introduced me to her family?” Gendry blurted out, their focus is on the on-going traffic. “I mean, her dad was _the_ Ned Stark. Maybe Arya was just toying around and never planned anything serious. Maybe she never loved me the way I thought she did. I wanted to marry her.”

Jon wishes Jeyne was here. She’d know what to say. “She wore your ring to her grave. That’s saying something.” He answers.

He curtly nods. “I want to be alone today.”

He thinks of the incident; of a drunk and depressed engineering trying to fulfill the wish of Arya.

_“Hey, hey, Gendry, come on, please come down!” Jon speaks into the microphone._

_The porch’s staffs, lifeguards, and securities surround him as they watch in horror as Gendry stumbles about the large yacht. It was one of the many the Starks owned and Arya has shown her interest in sea travel ever since they rode out for the first time. She loved pirates and talks about the sea and the unknown with such interest._

_“Not until I go everywhere she wanted to go!” He screams back, broken, and hoarse._

_“Sir, we’re going to have to forcibly remove him from the yacht. He can crash it on the porch or hurt himself.” One of the managers said._

_Jon shoves the microphone at the man’s chest and unbuttons his coat. “He drops it on the ground but his driver is quick to pick it up, folds it nicely._

_"I think that’s the fucking point, sir.” He spits out then dives into the water._

_He breaks an empty bottle of wine on Gendry’s head so he passes out. The next morning, Gendry is in the hospital and Jon caught a cold because of the impromptu late-night dive._

“You sure it’s safe?” Jon mumbled.

Gendry sighs. “Probably not, but I have you on speed dial.” He fingers the ring once more. “She was strong so I have to be too.”

“If you drunk drive, I will fucking kill you.” Jon heavily warns. "I will get the best doctors to patch you up only for me to kill you, got it?"

“That’ll do the both of us good, mate.” Gendry flippantly returns. He leaves in a cab and Jon lights another cigarette stick.

That night, Jon nurses his aching head with another can of beer. Seeing Ghost lounge about reminds him of Jeyne and it’s better to not think about today’s event.

He slams the can down on the ground, the rug dirtying. He furiously blinks, clenches his jaw. “Everyone just wanted to get married, have kids, and be fucking happy. Why are we all so…..”

Ghost curls at Jon’s feet as he cries into his palms.

This day has never ended well for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts my dudes???
> 
> (If u think this is sad, the next one will be WAYYYY sadder)


	9. I'm afraid of all I am

The hangover was awful.

Her head spins, her mouth and throat are dessert dry. She wobbles down the stairs to find the kitchen empty. She takes some pills, drinks a glass of water, and sits on the stool, feet dangling.

She doesn’t like being alone. There’s a strain in the air, her ears ring at times, and her thoughts can go in the extremes. If she could find her phone, she could call her secretary and disturb his weekend so they can do some work.

Sansa heard laughter out in the yard. Intrigued, she walks out the back door, her hold on the mug at seeing an impossible sight.

Jon Snow is playing with her son’s dog and Luke is attentively listening to whatever her former classmate is saying. It was mind-boggling; that or the alcohol from last night was worse than she thought.

She fetches a loose robe and hastily ties it around her waist, styles her hair into a messy ponytail. “Luke!” She calls in a way that resembles a taut string, seconds away from snapping.

The boys looked at her, half in fright and the other surprise. Jon is seated on the wooden chair, Storm at his feet, and he’s ridiculously overdressed. Luke is sitting on the chair next to Jon, laughing and drinking his lemonade.

“Mama, good morning!” He squeals and runs up to her, hugging her bare legs. “I wanted to greet you but Mr. Snow said to not disturb you.”

Sansa clenches her insides the pockets of her bathrobe. “Luke, did you eat breakfast?” She asks, bending down and combs her hand through his hair.

“I want to eat meals with you, Mama. You’re rarely home!” Luke answers with a huge beam. It blinds her sometimes, how naïve children are.

She hugs him and kisses his cheek. “Please get Storm, ask the chef to cook us your favourite meal, and wait for me, okay?”

He nods, calls his dog, and the pair flounces to the living room, unaware of the tension they left behind.

Sansa sits down where her son did, facing the expensive and well-kept garden. It had bushes of exotic flowers in bright colours, thick trees with fresh fruits she can pick any time of the day. The Greek columns that line against the cobbled pathway to the large and smooth fountain; there are now hundreds of thin vines that curl around the pillars, dotted with white and red flowers.

“You have a beautiful garden.” Mr. Snow says, stretching on the chair.

It irritated her that he’s actually here, vesting her when she was so rude to him the night before. Why does he have to be considerate? She has her pride to hold onto and he’s not making it easy; being so stupidly nice and naïve like this.

“I am certain you have a garden as well maybe even more maintained than mine. So, why are you here, Mr. Snow?” Sansa hisses, reaches out to fill her glass of the lemonade, stares at her former classmate.

His side profile has his sharp jawline, the long curl of his lashes, and his messy hair is artfully tousled. She tightens her hand on the glass and redirects her gaze to another pretty scene.

Jon turns to her, shined shoes planted on the floor. “I came here because I was worried about you.”

There is that annoying sentiment again; pity. People think they’re being good people, saying those empty words, soothing their conscience with veiled actions of charity.

Sansa slams her glass down, , her palm secures the fragile thing tighter. “What I said when I was drunk was the truth. Inhibitions gone, I meant what I said. I do not need your pity-“

“I do not think you’re pathetic at all, Miss Sansa.” Jon cleanly cuts her off, like smooth whiskey burning her throat but the emotions he incites are dangerous. “I’m worried about you. I can’t sleep because all I can think about is what you said. Of course I’m bloody worried”

Sansa slowly turns to him, chin set, her hands are cold. She didn’t expect this twisting turn. Shouldn’t he be furious at her? She was so rude and yet he brushes it off.

“You’d want to kill yourself if you were in my position.” She whispers, hoping only ghosts and God can hear her one awful wish.

Jon scoots on his chair. Thankfully the wooden table sits between them or else his long legs would’ve encased her by now. It’s a mindless thought, slithers into her mind, as she takes note of his lax posture and formal attire.

His face conveys sincerity Sansa hasn’t dealt with in a while. “It pains me that you think I’m apathetic because I’m not. I want you to know I care about you. And,” He licks his lips, seemingly hesitant. “Your family, your son, would be so devastated if you’d be gone from their lives. Sansa, by the gods, you’re such an amazing and strong person. You can’t just leave me-th-them, I mean.”

_I’m strong but when was the last time I was happy?_

“Will you join us for breakfast? It’s the least I can do for your troubles?” Sansa suggests, standing up.

_Jagged pieces rained down on the floor, separating her and her husband. She’s trembling in her high heels; unsure from the fear or the cold evening. What if they woke their son?_

_Harry stares at her, dark blue eyes, face taunt of restrained anger. Angry because of the stupid thing she did. She didn’t even mean it. Harry left her alone in this lavish party she didn’t even want to go._

_“Did you hurt your hand?” She asks, hiding her shaking hands behind her back._

_“I didn’t like your behaviour tonight, dear. Upstaging me in conversations, suggesting things we haven’t discussed ourselves. I’m your husband. You’re supposed to share everything with me!” He growls. “Or do you not remember stepping down so you can take care of our son? Did the wine get to your head, my love?”_

_When he took steps towards her, the glass crunching underneath his boots, loud like a warning, he cups her cheek in a tender manner. Sansa’s nails bite into her palms so she wouldn’t flinch; he never likes it when she shows him her weak side._

_“You’re my wife.” Harry proclaims the subtle fury remains on his face. “You’re mine.” There’s a bite to his tone, a warning and a threat. She’s lived with him to know how words never convey his intentions. “As such, I’d like you to behave like my wife and not an upcoming company heiress. You should keep that in mind the next time we go out, hm?”_

_There is no retaliation on Sansa’s part. He’s always so honest, her husband._

_Harry brushes past her and calls for a maid to clean the mess up. He leaves the room like how the killer escapes the crime scene; a broken soul in the study. The maid hurriedly enters, eyes on the floor as to not see Harry’s wife teary-eyed, confused, and tipsy from the party’s wine._

_Sansa collapsed on the safe, trembling, her heart accelerating to such speeds it hurt her ears._

_What does being a wife mean to someone like Harry?_

Jon stands over her; the grin is dazzling as the morning heat. “I’d love that.” He says.

Luke opens the sliding door, presses Storm on his chest with the legs swaying like it was his stuffed toy. “Mama, breakfast is ready! I wanted a rice omelette.”

“Darling, is it okay if Mr. Snow will join us?” Sansa asks.

The boy brightens up and nods fervently. “Of course, Mr. Snow! You can sit next to me!” He cheers and buries his face on Storm’s neck. “Come on!” He urges the adults.

“Mr. Snow,” Sansa calls and he stops ahead of her, looking curiously. “A-Aren’t you angry with me? I-I was so…..” Her tremulous voice alerts him in a way because he walks closer. I spoke my mind. I was reckless. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

He sighs. “To be honest, I am not, Miss Sansa. I’m frustrated at your stubbornness.”

Like Harry, she sulks, with all his smooth-talking as a businessman, he couldn’t restrain me from my stupidity.

“Your notions of me are all wrong. I don’t pity you. I’m your friend so I’d like to help you and I can’t help but worry about you. And I’m frustrated because you won’t let me help you. Rivals help each other grow is what you said, so let’s not make you a liar and fulfil that statement.” Jon says, genuinely, never letting their eyes go astray.

Sansa brings the cracked glass tighter to her chest. “You-you shouldn’t say those things to me.” She lowly warned, her voice so close to wavering.

He’s closer now, their noses almost brushing. “Why?”

Sansa looks up at him; in more ways than the physical sense. He’s so perfect, calm and composed. A true heart rests in him she wants to protect it, distance himself so he won’t be tainted by her faults and sins.

“Luke is waiting for us.” She horribly digresses the conversation, an awkward end. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

She turns and finds him standing and waiting. Smiling, he smiles as well, “Well, don’t keep Luke waiting, Mr. Snow. He may want to show you the room he wants just for his dog!”

Her rival laughs and walks at her side. “That’s magnanimous of him.” He comments. “I can suggest some toys Storm might like.”

As she listens to him talk, Sansa’s hand curled on his elbow. They do not talk of it; maybe he hasn’t noticed because of how eager he is in the topic of their conversation, but she likes her hand there and hopes she doesn’t have to pull away.

He places his hand over hers and opens the sliding door for Sansa.

They smile and Luke stares in awe. “Mama, you’re smiling!” He exclaims in glee. “Isn’t she pretty, Mr. Snow?”

Sansa blushes and sits down in front of her energetic son. The chef slides two cups of coffee and their rice omelettes look delicious.

Mr. Snow is next to her, unbuttoning his blazer. “Of course she is, Luke. Everyone in school used to have a crush on her. She’s just that beautiful!” He answers in such a chagrin way Sansa groans into her hands, the hangover was forgotten because this is much worse.

Luke gasps. “You knew my mom when she was a student?” He exclaimed in awe. Mr. Snow eagerly nods. “Did you also know Papa?”

Sansa’s spoon of food stopped in mid-air, the two adults gawking at the boy. She eyed Mr. Snow, his excitement slipped away and he’s mindlessly mixing the food on his plate.

Your father was magnetic, attracted trouble and pulled me in the spiralling abyss.

“Yes, I knew him. He was a bright man, Luke. And the smartest thing he did was marry your mother.” Mr. Snow laughs and the boy giggled.

Sansa grits her teeth. And it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. She doesn’t say this though, will most likely destroy the morning harmony in the air, and so she eats with her former classmate and son.

Their meals consumed, Luke bounced off the chair, cradling Storm and they sat on the sofa. He turns it on and watches some cartoons.

She catchs Jon staring at the large painting above the crackling fireplace. Standing beside him, she crosses her arms and glances to find him studying it with a small smile.

Laughing, she whispers, “You remember?”

“Like I could forget!” Jon replies. “The art exhibition was really one of a kind. The international artists and critics came and it was such a fun-filled night!”

Ah, he remembers the wrong things… Sansa thinks, a slight slump on her shoulders. Jon doesn’t recall the hours they spent roaming around the pristine white museum, reading everything in the brochure, chatting with every proclaimed painter, sculptor, and photographer.

_Sansa’s cheeks were numb from smiling and laughing. Jon and his unwavering attention towards her and they shared their genuine love of art as a pair, being dazzled by different mediums of arts for display._

_But one painting got Sansa’s attention and it’s now hung in her living room._

_“Rain that Hurts” Sansa read the title out loud._

_Jon, in an instant, separated himself from the mundane conversation with an art critic and asked her what so interesting._

_She points to it; the background is mahogany brown, there are numerous small spheres that resemble glass. It won a few awards abroad and Sansa can understand why._

_“I’m not an expert in paintings, but this, this is really… cool; even the title! For me, it’s broken glass being smashed against a desk. But for other people, it’s probably hail.” She explains but then gets embarrassed for talking too much. That and her friend is openly studying the excitement on her face. “Er, um, what do you think, Jon?”_

_“My assumption is hail.” He answers. “We could purchase the painting if we could find the painter.”_

_Sansa gasps. “Where would I even put it? You’re so silly, Jon!” She laughs._

_In her golden purse, her phone vibrates and she reads the caller ID; ‘Hubby Harry seeing the heart emojis made her cringe. She answers it because their last few fights have been about her ignoring his random phone calls._

_“Darling, hello!” She greets, turning away from Jon, to avoid his lowly casted gaze and frown._

_“Sans, where are you? Let’s go out, baby.” Harry whines into the phone and Sansa giggles._

_“But-“_

_“We haven’t seen each other in weeks! You’re always hanging out with your friends or we study together. Come on, I’ll take you on a proper date!”_

_Sansa wonders if this is him trying to make up for abandoning their anniversary dinner or for the harsh exchange of words of late. But isn’t he overdoing it? He gave her an imported and limited edition watch!_

_“Honey, I-I’m-“_

_“-With people more important than your boyfriend?” Harry snapped and Sansa stopped walking, holding her phone tight. “Dating the top student in her department is hard enough, but I have to be with someone that ranks me below her friends? Do you even love me?”_

_Jon stands in front of her, head tilted, curious but not overly so to crowd her personal space. “Are you okay?” He mouths, holding her untouched glass of champagne._

_Sansa leaves him in more ways than one that night._

“I didn’t expect this to be your wedding present for me,” Sansa says, as they continue to stare at it. “Or that you’d miss my wedding.”

(Sansa wore a wedding gown fashion magazines hailed ‘the most trending and elegant gown of the year’. The wedding was over the top, hundreds of guests and still, she searched through the sea for her old friend, to hope he’d be her unlikely companion in this highly social and pressuring event.

No one but him knows about her cold feet, her hesitation to marry a man like Harry. Jon held and comforted her, snatched her heart just before the bride will walk down the aisle; how cruel time can be sometimes.

She left his bed before he woke up because she has her wedding to participate in; the happiest bride to be, the media has called her.) 

Jon tugs his tie. “I’m sure I had a legitimate reason for not attending the happiest-“ He stopped when Sansa sniffled. Scooting closer, their shoulders touch, “I’m sorry for bringing him up. It must be difficult.”

Sansa holds onto him like an anchor, trembling, and she stares at his Italian shoes so he won’t see how utterly pathetic she has become. “Without the wedding, I wouldn’t have this painting so really, it is the best day of my life.”

He holds her cold hands. “I’m glad.” He’s thankful she doesn’t pry, not like the reporters, the people that so desperately want to be in his good side.

“You’ve given me a better than gift than this painting anyways!” Sansa says with the softest smile he has ever seen.

Luke came running in the living room, giggling as Storm chased him. He held the toy higher and the kitten jumped, making her son laugh out loud.

Sansa sprinted towards the boy and hugged and kissed his head; Luke kept on protesting and laughing in the same breath. “You’re so cute, my son!” She squeals.

Jon bent down and gestured to Storm, the kitten noticed and flounced to the businessman. “You are one responsible boy, Luke.” He praises with a small smile. “Storm will be in good hands, I see!”

“Mama, you’re so embarrassing! Thank you, Mr. Snow! Mama, let me bow to him, please!” Luke begs but his mother continues to hug him,

The boy wiggled out of Sansa’s embrace and stuck his tongue out. “I want to play with Storm more. Mama, stop hugging me!” He complains and picks his dog, bounces to the garden.

“Miss Sansa,” Jon stated her name in a loud tone. “I have only noticed it now. His eyes are purple. He has black hair like mine, yours is red and he was blonde.”

Sansa whirled around to see the seriousness on his face, tall and looming. She fidgets with her bathrobe. “It’s a genetic mutation.” She answers because years ago, she had the same horrific expression. “And my grandfather had dark hair. Why are you asking?”

Jon doesn’t appear convinced. 

Her heart races in fear. He’s intelligent and clever but he shouldn’t, he can’t-

“Father has purple eyes, Sansa.” He whispers lowly, walking over to her. But if he comes nearer, the finely tuned balance they stand on shall be tipped off, disaster will follow shortly after. “T-That night, you were unsure and I was frustrated because Father brought home another younger woman.”

“W-we were drunk.” Sansa stammered, making sure her son is far away from them and remains oblivious.

Jon shakes his head. “We didn’t have a drop of anything. Sansa,” He says her name as a warning, a plea, a question; she doesn’t want to answer to any of it. “Are you sure it’s a genetic mutation?”

Sansa pushes at his chest but he barely moves; his body of pure muscle and power. She feels weak next to him, hates the inferiority seeping into her gut. “What are you thinking, Mr. Snow? Trespassing into my home, disturbing my son, accusing me? Tell me, is this how you think my hangover will be gone?” She snarls and punches his arm. “And your family isn’t the only ones who have purple fucking eyes, Mr. Snow.”

“You’ve avoided me after that night.” Jon continues, relentless in his attacks. He’s the picture-perfect definition of hurt, his inky eyes hollow, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I thought it was because your life was so perfect; featured in magazines and interviews. You didn’t need me anymore. But…. Maybe you were avoiding me because of what had transpired.”

Sansa’s hands balled into fists, the stinging pain is enough to not make her cry. She can’t cry nor should she confess. Nothing good would follow if honesty is exercised.

“Of course I’d avoid you. We-the night before my wedding!” She groans and shakes her head. “I, I need a drink.” She grumbles and tries to walk past him, this thing between them is surely unhealthy; a sin someone like her keeps close to her chest.

(it is to remind Sansa she’s flawed like her husband, perhaps equally shameful as well. The way she can still recall how her vibrant red hair looks against his spruce blue sheets, his sinewy arm wounds on her stomach and how content is always so dizzying with this man, this physical manifestation of temptation.)

Jon’s hand shot out and he gently, gently, cradled her arm. “Sansa, please, talk to me. Confrontation isn’t your strong point, I know, but-“

“But what, exactly, Jon?” Sansa growls and turns around to find him with a broken expression; one that can only be worn if they’re tormented in the hands of love, of a force that can drive prideful people like them on their knees.

“Do you regret it then?” He stays where he is, far from her. It should’ve been like this in the very beginning because maybe then, Sansa wouldn’t be so guilty and angry all the time.

It was good. Why do I feel bad for something so good and pure? I endured hell with the man I married but people praised the devil and rejected lonely outcast.

“That is such a stupid question.” Sansa seethes,. She wishes her palm held a glass of scotch. The guilt at seeing him hurt like this, it’s too much. When I’m drunk, I see blue eyes instead of those haunting purple. It’s easier that way.

He takes a step back as she slapped him.

The apology tickles her tongue but she holds in it. She wants to go to him; in the manner, she has always wanted to, but, gods, it’s too simple and sweet for someone like her.

Sansa rubs her cheeks with her cold hands. “J-Jon, gods,” She whimpered. “I can’t, okay? I-I can’t and that is why I’m no better than Harry.” Closing her eyes, her entire frame shudders, hot tears burned down her cheeks.

“Mama, mama, what’s wrong?” Luke shouts and races to her. He tugs at her bathrobe and glares at Jon. “What did you do? Mr. Fred, get him out of the house right now! I want him gone!” He demands and his eyes, those eerie purple eyes, shine with tears. “Mama, I’m here.”

Sansa sits on the sofa, her angelic son rushes to the kitchen and fetches her glass of water. “It’s better if you leave, Mr. Snow.” She whispers and drinks the water like it’s the wine she desperately craves.

Bodyguards flanked at his sides and he doesn’t say a thing, can’t stop staring at the mother and her son. His eyes glistened and he shakily exhaled. “We’ll talk when you’re ready, then.”

“No!” Luke explodes and angrily points at him. “You made Mama sad and cry, I don’t want to see you again!”

Sansa lifts her head, red blotches her cheeks and nose. “Dear, please.” She says and her son sinks into her side while wholeheartedly glares at Jon.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I have caused, Luke. It wasn’t my intention to upset your mother.” Jon says, in an infuriatingly civil tone.

Oddly enough, her son takes it seriously and bobs his head. “All right, Mr. Snow, but I’m still mad at you. Guards.” He makes a shooing motion and the suited and well-muscled men nodded, obeying their young master.

He leaves but his fingers caress her shoulder.

She nearly leans into his touch like the fool that she is. When will she ever learn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn sansa replacing the family portrait with a painting jon gifted her on her wedding day 👀 damnnnn


	10. can i hold on for another night?

It was the oddest lunch request yet he has no power to refuse.

He arrives at the luxurious exotic restaurant, whispers the name to the staff, and he’s being led to the back room where CEOs usually dine.

And there, waiting for him, is the former Chairwoman of Stark Industries.

Jon slightly bows. “I apologize for making you wait, Mrs. Stark. Uptown traffic is downright terrible.” He announces and sits across of him. There are several delectable dishes on the table but he has no appetite; curiosity outweighs the urge to eat.

Catelyn Stark’s eyes are so much like Sansa’s it was unnerving. Her smile is small, designer outfit of green and gold, and Jon can’t begin to explain why he’s here.

_Sansa used to say she got the fierceness from her mother. It makes sense to me now._

“Let’s eat.” She says and she nibbles on her salad, eying him in an intensity that’s profoundly uncomfortable he can only poke at the meat on his plate. “You _must wonder_ why I invited my family’s enemy to dine with me, hm?”

Jon nods. “Is it business or something else entirely, ma’am?”

The wine she picked is delicious. Catelyn used to be the genius host in the parties her husband used to host. The minimalistic glamour of it all and she has the special ability to accommodate almost every guest.

Of course Jon never attended any the parties because first, he’s too young and second, his family never acknowledged their existence.

“People tend to forget I was a businesswoman before I met my dearest Ned. My family is my business, Mr. Jon, and I know what’s good for my business.” The former chairwoman stated in breeze, unveiling her disapproval of his presence. “You’ve been to my daughter, _my only living child’s_ house in numerous occasions. Are you two in a serious relationship?”

It’s not surprising that the older woman is… informed of the guests in Sansa’s home. Jon _should’ve_ been careful in visiting her but Sansa’s grief stricken face flashes in his mind. There is no room for regret or shame.

People are correct in saying Targaryens are shameless. And for once, Jon resonates with his family.

“No, ma’am, we’re not dating.” Jon answers. “We’re well-connected acquaintances.”

“Classmates,” Mrs. Stark dryly corrected, her red coated mouth soured. “You both were classmates and you tell me there’s no history between the two of you?”

The accusation is clearer than daylight; agitation over his denial can be heard in her tone. Jon felt subtly flattered of the supposed romantic connection but he should know better. Sansa doesn’t need something as complicated as a relationship at the moment.

She needs a friend; not whatever he feels ever since they became friends.

Jon shakes his head. “Ma’am, our families are connected by bad blood and feuds. I think that is the side of history you’re referring to. There is nothing going on between me and Sansa; none that will make you a concerned parent once more.”

Mrs. Stark relaxes slightly and sips her Dornish wine. “The media has tormented my poor daughter into a shell of someone I don’t recognize anymore. I would appreciate it if the press do not find out about your visitations to my daughter.” She pauses, sharp gazed and Jon sits straighter. “If more harsh stories are made of my daughter, rest assured, Mr. Snow, I’ll defend her like a wolf; bared fangs and ready for a bloodbath.”

Jon nearly smiles, impressed at the fierceness Mrs. Stark displayed. She’s certainly one tough woman and he can understand why Sansa is so stubborn about everything.

He should’ve expected this; walking in the den of wolves.

/\/\/\/\/\

“Ma’am, your mother is here!” Robert chirps by the doorway, giving space for the older woman to enter.

Sansa leans away from her laptop in suspicion. _Mother never visits me during work time._ “Afternoon.” She greets. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, we won’t be long. I have cleared your afternoon from meetings. We have somewhere to be.” Mother casually announced. “Get your coat, we’re leaving.”

Sansa clenched her hand. “Mother, _what_ on earth are you babbling about? I cannot just leave in the middle of the day! I have a job.” She hisses in fury because how dare she take this responsibility lightly?

_My title is covered in our family’s blood. And you think I can just walk away from the burden of it all?_

She couldn’t decipher Mother’s emotions because of the dark and round glasses perched on her nose. But the frown on her coated lips told Sansa enough; of the usual disappointment, settling for a disastrous daughter like herself.

 _I’m not some worthless washed up housewife suddenly turned into a CEO. I’ve been born and bred to lead._ “I have a career-“

“Such dedication, I admire that my child.” Mother deadpans, standing up, her hands curled on the small golden purse. “I have spoken with everyone involved in your meetings and they have agreed to postpone giving you more time to prepare your documents. Now, you’ve ran out of excuses. Get your coat and let’s _go._ ”

Sansa had a little argument after that. Head bowed, she follows Mother like the obedient daughter she’s been raised to be. On the way to their unnamed destination, she studies the blur of the city outside the window.

Mesh of grey, green and other mundane colours blend and Sansa keeps on staring, chin on her palm. She opens her trench coat and reaches in the inside pocket, she takes a swig from her glass canister.

The whiskey soothes her anxiety and she exhales deeply.

By the time they reach the tall and imposing building, she finished half of her drink and she tries not to stumble. At least she’s not annoyed or anxious, just tipsy.

“Where are we?” Sansa whispers to her companion as they ride the elevator.

Mother clicks her tongue and shoves a candy mint to her. “Are you serious? You’re _drunk?”_ She furiously mutters then massages the side of her head. “We’re going to the only person who can tolerate your irrational behaviour from now on.”

Sansa is dumbfounded but eats the candy anyways.

They stop at a receptionist and that’s when Sansa noticed it; the people waiting, the gloomy atmosphere.

She grabs Mother by the arm, startling the old woman. “You brought me to a fucking therapist?” Sansa growls in a whisper, her fingers dug into Mother’s ash grey cape. “Are you _serious-“_

“I am!” Mother shouted, making the nearby people jump at the sharp irritation in her voice. Luckily, they wore heavy shades, styled their hairs differently, and they’re unrecognizable. “You need someone to talk to because your constant refusal to open up to me is hurting the both of us. He’s a brilliant man. And you are a mother, like I said, and you cannot nurture Luke if you’re like _this_. So please,” She paused.

Sansa realized she has never heard Mother beg for anything in her life. She was upper middle class and married into a wealthy family; there’s no malcontent in her life.

But now, she’s begging.

“Let me take care of you.” Mother whispered then turned to the stunned receptionist. “We’re the next, right?”

The blonde bobbed her head. “T-The last session just ended, ma’am. You can go in.”

With a literal push from Mother, Sansa stumbles into the office. It was the definition of bleak, different shades of grey from the walls to the black furniture. There are tall potted plants in the corners of the office and an old man sitting, waiting for her.

He’s old and balding; wore a three piece suit. There are wrinkles on his face and he had a thick grey beard. When he turns to her, there was that kind smile. “Ah, are you Sansa?” He asks in a kind tone.

But it didn’t relax her in the slightest’ this man is her enemy, the man Mother hired to try and fix her up,

Sansa isn’t even sure what’s wrong with her anymore, no more than she knows what makes her a good person. She’s just…..hallow, her chest a gaping abyss where her heart used to be.

“May I have a glass?” She points to the tray of scotch and whiskey by the small table separating their chairs.

“No.” The old man replied. “Catelyn tells me you’re a drunk.”

Sansa flops on the chair and groans. “And if I deny it, you’d take note of my words as something like the opposite of my actions?” She snaps.

“I’m Dr. Luwin and we’re here to talk.” He says kindly, like she’s visiting his grandfather on the holidays.

Sansa doesn’t buy it, his façade. His walls are decorated with titles, awards, and diplomas form different universities all over the world. His works are recognized and he’s beloved in his community.

Of course he wouldn’t understand her struggle. For God sakes’ Sansa can see the family portrait by his office desk, children and grandchildren.

She reaches for the whiskey bottle but the therapist’s hand shot forward, a surprisingly strong grip on her wrist.

Her heart raced in utter trepidation. _Harry’s hold was so strong I honestly thought he’d break my wrist._ Anxiety dances along her nerves and she whimpers. Not sure if she’s already drunk or she’s crying, but she cries out loud in fear.

The pleas weigh down her tongue. _I’m sorry I talked back. I’m sorry I’m not the person you envisioned beside you, I’m unworthy I know. I’m sorry I talked to other men. Just please, please, let go of me._

_I’ll be good. I’ll love you and-_

She can basically see her deceased husband looming over her; unforgiving, hands fiddling with his French cufflinks, and the frown set heavy on his mouth.

The man watches her, mouth agape. “Miss-“

Sansa stands up, her hands shaking so bad she dropped the bottle. Looking down, she’s horrified, recalls how Harry breaks things in front of her, but he had never hurt his wife.

She knows why; because people talk if bruises would mar her pretty porcelain skin.

Her shaking hands cover her mouth, staring at the ruined bottle and the whiskey the rug is soaking up. Her heart can’t seem to decelerate, her breaths are loud in her ears and she wants everything to _stop_.

_Harry loved to destroy things. He loved and ruined me. He broke vases and glasses to warn me of his capability. He can break things and people._

_I loved a monster. And what does that make me?_

Sansa’s broken out of her thoughts when she felt Mother’s hands on her shoulders. “Mother?” She whispers.

Since when did she storm into the room?

She doesn’t answer and held out Sansa’s hands; blood trace the lines on her palms. “You’re bleeding, love. Come on, let’s patch you up. Luwin, if you may.” She gestures for the man to come closer with the first aid kit.

“I bet I’m just so interesting to all of you, huh?” Sansa taunts the silent and alarmed adults. “I-I get a panic attack at someone holding me too tightly. I cry when I break things…” She bit her lip because it trembled too much. “He, I-I….. and I drink because my emotions scare me so much. I don’t want to feel anymore. It _hurts_.”

Mother embraced her after cleaning her hands. “Darling child, we’re here to support you. We want to help you. _Please,_ let us!” She beseeches; thin eyebrows furrowed and her mouth pinched into a frown.

“I think you misunderstand the situation, Mother.” Sansa replies, her voice heavy with grief. “I don’t think I deserve salvation. I’m a damned woman and this is my punishment.”

“Let’s start next week.” Dr. Luwin blurted, serious and determined. “Few times a week, a couple of hours, that is all I ask.”

_It is too much._

But then Sansa notices Mother’s cheeks shine with sweat and she cradles Sansa’s injured palms like she broke her hands.

“F-Fine.” Sansa spits out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually an idea for a novel but i figured it was too.... melodramatic and im trying it with jonsa 
> 
> ( i want to explore the relationship of cat and sans bc i rlly do love them in the books)   
> 
> 
> so... thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> the title is so cheesy im so sorry


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